


The King and the Fairy

by Emyliine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Eventual Romance, Fairy Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emyliine/pseuds/Emyliine
Summary: Arthur happens upon a fairy prince in the distant recesses of Camelot's forests. His life is never the same. Fairy!Merlin AU, an idea I got from tumblr. MerlinxArthur, ArthurxGwen, MerlinxArthurxGwen, idk, whatever. I'll try to update every Tuesday, but no promises.





	1. Arthur meets Merlin & questions his sanity (his own and Merlin's and everyone's)

i.

"M'Lord, we were supposed to be back by now. We don't usually go this far; not in this part of the forest."

"A king cannot return from a hunt without any game. Do you understand  _nothing_ , Havor?" Arthur's foot servant fell into an uneasy quiet, lowering his eyes. The king eyed him down for a few more seconds, then turned, the absent tip of his sword drawing an arc in the dirt. The woods stood tall and empty around him, the trees spaced enough for easy movement, but close enough together to entice creatures to hide. It was early fall; there should have been plenty of game around. Where was everything? He began walking cautiously again, stepping toe-heel to avoid rustling the leaves on the ground too much. After a couple steps, he saw a dark flash in the corner of his vision. He spun towards it, startling his foot servant, but there was nothing except grey trees. Not even any swaying plants or disturbed leaves.

Something crackled in the underbrush behind him. Arthur turned, following the path of his sword, letting his gaze drift over the bushes, then flit through the bare autumn branches. Nothing. He exhaled through his nose as his eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right.

"What is it, sir?" Havor whispered. Arthur ignored him, standing up straight again and sheathing his sword.

"Perhaps you were right. It may be best we return to Camelot."

Just then, a rabbit shot out from under a thistle bush, darting straight through the trees. Instinctively, Arthur gave chase. "There! Come on, we have to push it towards the snare!" It was a smaller beast than he had been hoping for, but it was better than nothing. He heard Havor stumbling behind him but had no mind to slow down for the oaf.

"My Lord! Please, it isn't worth the trouble!"

"Keep up, Havor!" He side-stepped a tree, ducking under several branches. Perhaps if he found the hare's home, he could smoke it out. Or if he cornered it against a ridge…

But it wasn't long before he found himself wheezing, and the hare was slowly gaining distance from him. Even without his heavy armor on, he wouldn't have been able to keep up with such a creature. Or perhaps he was getting old.

His sprinting slowed to a jog, then a lope, before he halted altogether and leaned against the small dirt ledge jutting up from the ground. "Damn… mangy… beast…" he panted, running a hand through his blonde bangs to let the air soothe the sweat from his forehead. He turned to Havor for a drink of water, only to discover that there was no one behind him.  _Any where_  behind him. The woods, for as far as he could see, were empty.

"Looking for this?"

He jumped, pulling his sword from his hip and spinning to confront the voice.

Standing in front of him was a lanky, pale-skinned man with black hair. Perhaps not even a man, he looked too knobby to be older than a boy. In his arms, sitting quiet as a mouse, was the rabbit who had just outrun him. Its nose twitched, and Arthur was almost sure the black eye turned towards him was mocking him.

He tried to keep the scowl from his face as he stared the dark-haired boy down. "How did you catch that?" he asked, not lowering his sword. The kid didn't look like he could do much harm, but anyone alone so deep in these woods was someone to be suspicious of.

"How did you not?" the boy replied nonchalantly. Arthur let the scowl reach his face now, unsure whether that was an insult or not.

"What's your name? Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Merlin." He leaned over to drop the hare onto the ground, and it hopped off slowly. Arthur watched it go, reining in his urge to spear it with his sword right then and there. "You're trespassing, you know. These woods belong to me."  _That_  grabbed the king's attention, and he scoffed in disbelief. The blue eyes across from him showed no sign of mischief, nor of humor or even regret for the words. He was completely serious.

" _Your_  woods? I am Arthur  _Pendragon_ , the King of Camelot; this entire land belongs to me!"

"You are mistaken. Please leave here at once and return to wherever you came from." The boy turned his back to Arthur and started walking away.

It took several seconds for Arthur to find his voice through the impudence. "I will not leave the place I have a right to be! And you did not answer my other questions,  _Merlin_. Who are you and what are you doing here?" The black hair stopped but didn't turn back around. Arthur glared at it, hoping the fire in his gaze could be felt.

"I will only ask you once more–"

"And  _I_  will only ask  _you_  once more," Arthur growled, quickly growing tired of this. He moved forward until his sword was pressed against Merlin's back. The boy did not even flinch. "This is my land, and I am a  _king_. You will not treat me with such disrespect."

Merlin took a step, then turned in a flourish, folding his torso into a bow that ended just above Arthur's blade. "I am sorry, M'Lord," he said as he stood again, though the cocky grin on his face did nothing to help Arthur's mood. Nor did his next words. "I did not realize that being a spoiled brat entitled one to instant respect."

Arthur flicked his sword, catching Merlin's red hemp shirt and tearing a large hole in its front. The boy glanced down, for once a bit of surprise showing on his face. When he looked back up and met Arthur's furious gaze, the emotion in his eyes startled Arthur. It wasn't fear, it was… curiosity.

"M'Lord! M'Loooord!"

Arthur turned to where Havor's voice was coming from, just before the servant stumbled past the dirt ledge and into view, looking completely disheveled. "Ah, there you are!" he said breathlessly. "I was so worried you had become lost, M'Lord… is something the matter?"

Arthur blinked. "No, I just…" He looked back at Merlin, only to find nothing but air and disturbed dirt. He looked around, completely taken aback. No one could disappear that fast. "Havor did you… see that man run away?"

"What man, M'Lord?" The foot servant stepped closer to Arthur, wringing his hands. "Are you alright? Perhaps it is time we returned."

"…Yes," Arthur replied slowly, reluctantly pulling his gaze from the emptiness in front of him. He suddenly found himself doubting whether that had been real or not. After taking another few seconds to collect himself, he sheathed his sword again and strode past Havor, back the way he had come. "Come on, then. Before it gets dark."

"O-of course, M'Lord."

Arthur could not get the strange boy out of his mind. Every moment he had to himself, eating, or laying in bed at night, or taking a walk. Who was he, really? Perhaps some whore's kid from another kingdom… or an impudent poor boy who liked to escape his life… no, despite his ratty clothes, he held himself too well to be on a lower status. Then a knight's runaway son? But Arthur had asked everyone he knew about the neighboring kingdoms, and no one reported any missing sons.

He could never figure it out. But that last look in Merlin's eyes, the curiosity and intrigue–it drove Arthur to the edge of the forest several times. He stood right on the border between woods and farmland, debating on just disappearing off into the wilderness for a few hours. But he had no guarantee that he would find Merlin again, or even the spot he had been. They had certainly had a hard enough time finding their way back; he and Havor had spent hours trekking through only vaguely familiar land, Havor constantly voicing Arthur's inner fears of discovering that they were trespassing an enemy's territory, as unprepared and unprotected as they were. When they had finally stumbled into Camelot after dark, it had been such a relief that Arthur could not have imagined ever wanting to go back again.

And yet the next morning he found himself wanting that exact thing. To return, to find the knobby boy and demand to know who he was, and what right he had not to fear Arthur's anger.

But weeks passed, and he never went. And then winter came, the rain was icy and sharp, and even if he tried Arthur would not be able to find an excuse to leave the grounds. Not that he even wanted to; it was no climate to be running around the woods in.

Winter ebbed by. Then a war broke out between an enemy and an ally, and all of Camelot's forces– and Arthur's attention– was put on that. Merlin slid to the back of Arthur's mind as a hallucination, a dream brought forth from dehydration and that day's cold autumn air.


	2. Oh boy a scary tree (and Gwen!)

ii.

Arthur leaned over the map spread across the hall table, his weight on his hands. It wasn't accurate (they rarely were), but it was good enough to give him an idea of the terrain and landmarks that made up the place where he'd be leading his cavalry into battle. Spring was quickly turning to summer, which meant it would be hot, and there'd be plenty of movement-hindering foliage.

One of the large oak doors behind him creaked open. He didn't bother turning around; he could tell those soft footsteps from anywhere. Two slim, brown arms found their way around his waist, and he felt through his leather doublet the pressure of a cheek against his shoulder.

"I hear rumors that King Gareth is somehow controlling a magical beast. An unbeatable monster."

"Why, Gwen," Arthur replied slyly, turning around and hugging his wife against his chest, "I thought I married a woman too intelligent to believe such wives' tales."

"I don't _believe_ them," she scoffed, pulling away from him and crossing her arms. "I'm just worried. We've been fighting for months, and you have to admit his army has shown unnatural strength and tenacity."

"His men have shown _great_ strength and tenacity. Not unnatural." Guinevere stared at him, the shadow in her eyes not lifting. An amused smile spread across his face as he reached out and pressed his palm against her cheek, then brushed his hand down her neck and into the brown curls falling over her shoulders. He had seen all of her moods by now, and she was beautiful through all of them. "You should not be so concerned about me," he murmured. "Your duties should keep you preoccupied enough while I'm gone, and I'll be back before you know it. Don't start doubting me now, Guin."

"I do not doubt you. I'd never doubt you. But we've already lost so many knights… I just wish this war would be over. There is no reason for it."

" _Protection_ is the reason for it." He moved his palm to the back of her neck, guiding her closer to kiss her. "I will protect my kingdom, and I will protect my queen. Those are the only things I live for."

He felt her smile under his lips. "Some of the things you say are not as romantic as you think they are, My Dear." But she kissed him back, draping her arms around his shoulders.

"M'Lord-!" A man barreled through the open door, only to come up short. "Oh, I-I apologize, My King. My Lady." Arthur's earl constable dipped his head, falling to one knee as his brown curls fell over his eyes.

Arthur and Gwen separated quietly. Gwen cleared her throat as she smoothed down her dress. "All's well, Sir Leon," she reassured him. "What is the rush for?"

"Well, My Lady, I… there is…"

"What is it, Leon?" Arthur asked impatiently. If it was truly as urgent as the look on the knight's face, they didn't have time for his shyness.

"Unknown men have been spotted in the West Woods, by the fields. They are advancing quickly towards Camelot, on foot, and are heavily armed. I fear their intentions are not peaceful."

Guinevere looked up at her husband, but Arthur's face was unreadable. "You must wait outside the farms for them," she said.

"No." He waved a hand to dismiss Leon. "We must go meet them in the woods, before they can get much closer. There's no time to saddle the horses, go tell the men to get into armor." Leon dipped his head again, then rushed back out of the room. Arthur went to follow, but Guinevere gripped his arm.

"What am I to tell the townspeople?"

"Whatever you must to keep them calm. If things are going badly, I will send a man back to tell you to get the farmers into the city walls. Hopefully this is just a misunderstanding." He met her eyes, gripping her hand in both his own, then kissed her forehead. "If we are not back by nightfall, have the guards bar the city gates." He turned and walked out of the room before she had time to say anything else.

+++

Sunlight patched the forest floor, and birds chirped merrily in the trees. Nothing seemed out of place, but it was all the more unsettling that the weather didn't match the sense of foreboding in Arthur's chest. If men were coming from the West, that most likely meant they had run into and gotten past William's knights. No men had gotten past the Baron's forces before, he had some of the best knights in the kingdom. Arthur knew; he had personally trained some of them.

Arthur motioned for his men to follow him as he started down the left fork of the path. They were close to where the men should be coming up to, but the woods were silent. No marching, no orders, they could hear nothing except their own footsteps thudding on the dirt. They were not going to be ambushed, were they? No, even King Gareth had better honor than that. The messenger said he had seen forty men, so Arthur had brought sixty. They would confront the advancing men in an attempt to peacefully settle the attack before it could begin, or to at least find out the purpose of their invasion. But this was all, of course, if Arthur could find them.

In another few minutes, Arthur realized he could see something in the distance. It was huge, tall, and… alone. The king raised his hand for his men to halt, and he stood there for several seconds watching the structure. It was perfectly still. It looked more like a tree than anything else, but Arthur had been down this same trail too many times to be fooled. Whatever it was, it was new, and it wasn't supposed to be there. He needed a better look.

As he was about to take a step, Gwaine slid purposefully in front of him. "M'Lord," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "You do not plan on approaching it alone, do you?"

"It may very well be a trap, Gwaine. I will not lead sixty of my finest men into such a situation. If anything happens, I trust you will lead the men with the right decisions."

"At the risk of your life? No, Sir. Let me go instead."

 Arthur had to smile at the loyalty. "I can take care of myself."

"At least let me go _with_ you. Take a few of us and leave the rest. Leave Phillip in charge for the time." The knight squeezed his king's shoulder, his deploring look not giving Arthur much room for consideration. He knew his men were not loyal for the sake of loyalty; they were loyal for the sake of their king alone. Arthur could not deprive them of such intentions. "Alright. Go tell Phillip the orders. If it's an ambush, attack. Decoy, try to separate their men from each other by scattering individual fights into the trees. Anything else… he has a good head on his shoulders to think of a plan. I'll get the other men." He gave Gwaine's arm a pat as the man dipped his head and pushed through the line behind Arthur.

Once he had picked eight men to go with him, they set off at a slow jog to get closer. Perhaps it was the intention to make the group even smaller… but the men had insisted Arthur take as many knights in case they attacked him, so he'd have more of a fighting chance. Still, he felt uneasy about the whole thing.

They slowed once they were closer, and Arthur was not quite sure what to make of the structure in their path.

It was as tall as six men, its surface rough like tree bark, but blacker than any tree he'd ever seen before, and not a black like burnt wood. It even had undamaged branches toward the top, though it had no leaves.  It didn't appear to have roots either, its trunk simply… _ended_. Arthur stepped slowly around it, examining it as his men shifted restlessly and glanced around. He got back to the front with no incidents.

"It's…" he said, trailing off. He had no idea. Gwaine pulled out his small dagger and stepped forward, stabbing it into the tree.

"Feels like wood," he confirmed, pulling his dagger. It didn't come out. He yanked it a few more times, then pressed his hand against the bark for an extra pull. As soon as his palm touched the structure, he jumped back, startling the rest of the men. "It- it's… moving," he whispered.

"Look!"

They stared in awe as the dagger slowly sunk deeper into the tree. Before it could become entirely engulfed, Arthur shoved at Gwaine. "Get back! Get back to the men!" They started scrambling down the path, Arthur walking backwards as he watched the tree swallow the rest of the dagger. What was this magic?

"Oh no," he murmured.  Gwaine grabbed Arthur's arm, just as he spun around and grabbed onto him, pulling Gwaine down to the ground with him. "GET DOWN!" A black lance just barely passed over their heads, lashing like a whip. Men screamed as their bodies thudded to the ground, sliced in two. Then the lance evaporated like black smoke and disappeared.

Gwaine lifted his head, breathing heavily as he looked over his shoulder. Arthur followed his gaze, meeting the eyes of Osric– the only other man of the ten who appeared to still be alive beside Gwaine and himself. The man's face was slack with fear.

"What in God's Hell was that?" Gwaine whispered.

"I have no idea," Arthur panted back, looking up the path. Rushing towards them were the fifty men they'd left behind. "NO!" He leaped to his feet, sprinting to meet them and ignoring Gwaine's yelling for him to get down. "GO BACK!" They couldn't hear him over their yells and battle cries.

"My Lord, look! The tree!" Osric cried. Arthur turned just in time to see it collapse down into itself, then spread out like the same black smoke the whip had turned into, before it slowly began taking on solid forms. Solid _human_ forms. Humans with black armor and pitch-black faces with no eyes.

He continued standing as his men rushed past him, still yelling, and clashed with the smoke men's front forces. Swords clashed, and it was that noise that pulled Arthur into the present. His sword rung as it was torn from its sheath, and he charged into the fight with his men.

He found himself locking swords with a swing meant for another of his men. The black knight before him seemed not the least bit put off by this change, though Arthur wasn't sure if these men had minds or not. He certainly couldn't discern any emotion from their empty faces.

It swung its sword around, and he braced his shield against its blow, then used the opening on the knight's left side to bury the edge of his blade into its armor. But instead of hitting, his sword sliced right through the man–like it was slicing through smoke.

Arthur stepped back, raising his shield above his head to block another downward strike. From the noises around him, it sounded like his men were beginning to realize something was wrong as well.

"RETREAT!" he cried, the word echoed by the rest of his men. But as he said it, the black knight in front of him evaporated. He took another few steps back before he realized that the tree had appeared again where it had been before; in the middle of the path, behind the retreating men's backs. "No! NO! GET DOWN!" he screamed. A body knocked full force into his, splaying him onto the dirt and knocking both his sword and shield from his hands. He saw nothing but blue sky and green leaves, but he heard the screams. From somewhere to his right, blood sprayed his face.

Trying to breathe after the force that knocked the air from his lungs, he pushed at the man on top of him.

"M'Lord, are you alright?" Gwaine panted.

"Gwaine, get off, go!" He shoved him off, sitting up and looking around. Bodies lay throughout the trees, not one moving. He stared, light-headed, feeling a fear he had never known before crawling up his throat and grabbing hold of his tongue.

"M'Lord we must–" the sentence was cut off by a guttural scream, and Arthur whipped around to see his best knight run through by a black sword. The knight standing above him turned, the sword passing through the rest of Gwaine's body like air, and looked at Arthur.

"No," Arthur whispered, pushing himself backwards, reaching behind him for a shield– anything. He couldn't take his eyes from the knight as it stepped toward him, carefully, its movements calculated as though it were a man trying not to startle a scared animal. "No," he said again, louder, raising his arm as the knight lifted its sword above its head.

A branch swung, hitting the knight with enough force on the side to make it stumble. It turned around, scanning for the source of the attack.

A pale face pressed right into Arthur's as a hand gripped one of his. "Get up!" the face yelled. "Run!"

He jumped up, his hand still being pulled by the other man, who started running as soon as Arthur had his feet on the ground. He sprinted along with him, not looking back at the massacre spread across the forest trail.


	3. Arthur & Merlin bicker like children (what else is new)

iii.

"What was that?" Arthur demanded, though he barely had the breath to speak. After having run full sprint for a good twenty minutes, he was red and breathless. But Merlin continued peering around the corner of the cave, ignoring him. Arthur hooked his fingers into the collar of Merlin's shirt, pulling him inside and slamming him against the cave wall. "Answer me!" he growled.

Merlin met his gaze steadily. "What was it? It was bad, is what it was."

"We have to go back and help anyone still alive. We have to–"

"No one is alive!" Merlin shrugged Arthur's hands from his shoulders and stepped aside. "You shouldn't even be alive! I have no idea why I saved you, it's you filthy humans who got yourselves into this mess in the first place!"

"I don't…" Arthur shook his head. He had other priorities than to worry about the insane things this strange man said. "No, they can't all be dead. Gwaine… he's not dead. Oh!" His hands flew to his head, gripping his hair as he stared in horror at the ground. "Camelot! I must go warn them! I cannot let that– that– thing get to the city!"

"It won't."

He looked up. "What?" Merlin's composure abated his own nerves, despite the man being obviously mad.

"No matter how strong the person controlling it is, it will not go near a civilization. It's against its very nature… well, it is nature."

"What are you talking about?"

"That was a spirit of nature, turned bad by one of your kind. It was corrupted and is being used as a tool." He scoffed, turning his face away. "How despicable."

"So it'll leave Camelot alone?"

"Most certainly, whatever 'Camelot' is. If there are many people there it will, anyway."

Arthur exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his already mussed hair. "This can't be happening. I've never seen anything like that before. My men… my best knights… I can't afford to lose them at a time like this." The reality of the situation hit him, and he sank onto his heels, covering his face. "How could I let this happen?"

Merlin watched him uneasily. He had never really comforted a human before. In fact, any interaction with them was few and far between. He knelt beside Arthur, an arm's length away, and stretched out his hand to give Arthur's head two pats. It worked on deer, anyway. "You tried your best."

Arthur looked up, swiping Merlin's arm away with his own. "My best wasn't good enough, was it? My men trust me to make the best decisions for them, and I killed them all."

"Well," Merlin said after a pause, "you didn't directly kill them."

Arthur stared at the man, then inhaled slowly through his nose to better control the urge to strangle him. This wasn't the other man's fault, idiotic though he may be, and losing his wits wasn't going to help anything. "We have to go back. If anyone is still alive, I won't leave them to suffer their agony alone."

"Fine," Merlin said stiffly, standing up again and crossing his arms. "But I won't help you again."

"I don't need your help," Arthur growled, standing up as well.

"Good, then!"

"Good!"

Merlin watched Arthur's back disappear around the outside of the cave. He stood unmoving for several more seconds, his nose lifted. But he couldn't get the image out of his head of Arthur on the ground, the look of terror on his face as the corrupted Dryad stood over him. So, with an aggravated huff, Merlin set off after the human.

Arthur walked cautiously, with what Merlin assumed the man thought to be silence. He followed effortlessly, unnoticed the entire trip. When Arthur glanced behind his shoulder, he tensed slightly first, and the warning gave Merlin more than enough time to slide behind a tree.

The human king slowed as he got closer to the site of combat, his fear giving his lacking stealth skills an extra boost that Merlin had to commend him on. He watched the man move between the cover of trees, only fully halting when he reached the first corpse.

He stood without repulsion in the blood-soaked grass, looking down at his fallen comrade. His face was turned away, so Merlin couldn't see his expression, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. He had watched these men die without a single care, but the way Arthur's shoulders were slumped, the slight tremble in his closed fists, had Merlin feeling a compassion he had never felt before for any human.

Arthur lifted his head, and Merlin just managed to skirt behind a tree before the man saw him. He waited until he heard footsteps before he stepped out from behind the trunk and followed.

The Dryad was clearly long gone, most likely having accomplished what it was commanded to– destroy Camelot's best fighting men. Knights: was that what Arthur had called them? Oh, damned if Merlin knew, humans were constantly changing the title of the foolish men who died for some stone walls.

He could have left, now that he was sure there were no corrupted spirits hanging about. But he stayed and watched the human.

Arthur walked straight-backed into the middle of the strewn bodies, sliding his gaze over them. He knelt beside one, uncaring of the split body and its guts, to gently coax the helmet off its head. He bowed his own head and began to pray.

Merlin crept closer, rather intrigued but mostly amused. After nearly a minute of this, he spoke up. "Are you planning on doing this for every one?"

Arthur looked over his shoulder, trying to hide his surprise, though Merlin wasn't so easily fooled. "Yes. What is it to you?" He turned back to the body.

"Well I just think it'd take an awfully long time." He got no response. He waited quietly until Arthur finished the unnecessarily long prayer. "Why not just say one for all of them?"

"Will you shut up?"

"I'm just trying to help."

"Why did you even follow me?"

That finally got Merlin to stop talking, and he fell into an uncomfortable silence. Why did he follow him, exactly? To be sure the area was safe, but he should not have cared about the human's safety. Arthur stood and looked at him, his eyes hardened over as a shield against grief. Merlin had a feeling Arthur suppressed all of his emotions, a good explanation for his general pompousness.

"What was that thing?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"You obviously know more about this than I do, so tell me what it is, how to kill it."

"I am not going to tell you how to kill it. It doesn't deserve to die. The bastard who made it like that deserves to die."

"I'll kill him, too, don't worry about that."

"I'm not."

They glared each other down for a few more seconds.

"You called it a… a spirit of nature? What does that mean?"

Merlin sighed, breaking eye contact to look at the tree standing solemnly beside him. "You wouldn't understand," he mumbled, brushing his hands across its bark, feeling the forgotten language that swirled over it. "Humans never understand. Their incessant, stupid want of knowing bars all their capacities of comprehending."

"Er… what?"

"Exactly." Merlin looked back at the king, his eyes so narrow and piercing that Arthur involuntarily took a step back. He swallowed, his own fear bringing rise to his anger. How could he be afraid of this twiggy little boy? Though he had to admit that he imagined Merlin much more of a man now, after he had saved his life.

But he wouldn't let anyone– man, boy, or even inhuman– push him around. He moved closer, hoping he looked menacing standing a head taller than the other man. "Fine, if you won't tell me that, then tell me exactly who you are. No running away this time, no beating around the bush."

Merlin crossed his arms, obviously not intimidated. "I am Merlin, Fairy Prince of The Long Woods, by right of my care and skill."

"Fairy prince?" Arthur scoffed. "There is no such thing. Fairies are… for one, non-existent, and two, tiny little winged men who fly. Can you fly?"

"I can kill you with your own blood. Does that count?"

Arthur's smirk faded. He couldn't tell whether Merlin was lying or not, and after all he had seen today, he wasn't sure he wanted to take the chance. "Then if you're a prince, your father must be a king. What is his name, where is his kingdom?"

"My father is no king, he is the forest, and his kingdom stretches to wherever the last tree stands."

"That's preposterous."

"So is a black tree that kills with smoke." Arthur's face really set into stone at that. Merlin adopted the human's lost smirk. "I will take care of the Dryad. You can take care of… this mess."

"Dryad?"

"The thing that killed your men."

Arthur glanced around, his face carefully still. Such an interesting range of emotions, humans had. Even their attempts to be void of feeling portrayed another emotion. Merlin decided he would see much more of this man, even if only to study him.

"Speaking of… that." Arthur knelt down, oblivious to Merlin's thoughts, and traced his fingers across the width of a blade that belonged to one of the fallen knights. "My sword went right through one, and its sword went right through one of my men… so when I was fighting it, why didn't it just have its sword go through my shield?"

"Ah." Merlin leaned over to pick up a solitary shield, undisturbed by the splatters of still-warm blood across it. He rapped his knuckles against the surface. "Your swords are iron, but your shields are wood, fortunately for you. Though the knights were made of smoke, their source was still one of wood. They cannot go through something they are from."

"That's why that branch you hit it with actually made contact." Arthur looked up at Merlin and the shield from where he was crouched, his eyes narrowed in thought. After another moment, he stood and strode to where his sword and shield had been knocked from his hands and were still sitting among weeds. He picked both up, returning the sword to its sheath and the shield to his arm.

Merlin didn't like the dedicated look in his eye. "I told you, I'll handle the Dryad. It does not deserve death, or any more torture than it has already been through."

"I won't touch your precious Dryad. But I will avenge my men's deaths. I will avenge Gwaine's death. They deserve that, if nothing else."

"You will kill the man who corrupted the nature spirit?" Merlin asked.

"I will do more than that," Arthur growled, kneeling beside Gwaine's corpse to take his helmet off. "I will make sure he suffers."

A grin spread slowly across Merlin's face. "I think we can get along after all."


	4. Fun sleepover that definitely goes well

iv.

Merlin stood by, watching the entire time as Arthur took off the helmet of each man and closed their eyes, saying a few words over them. He kept each prayer short, conscious of Merlin's stare on his back. Although, he was rather grateful for the unofficial look-out; even if that monster— er, Dryad— didn't come back, there were plenty of other things in this forest that weren't the kindest creatures to meet.

"Done?" Merlin asked, suppressing a yawn as Arthur walked by him. Arthur kept walking, ignoring him. Merlin watched him pass by, then started after him. "You humans are very interesting indeed."

"Do you not honor your dead?"

"If I died, the fact that my body would return to the earth is honor enough."

"...And you say humans are strange," Arthur muttered.

"I didn't say strange, I said interesting."

Arthur grunted in response.

Merlin thought for a few more seconds, then skipped up to slide in front of Arthur. The man stopped walking, eying him reproachfully. "You should stay with me for the night."

"And why is that?"

"It's about ten minutes from being dark out." Arthur looked around, only just noticing this. "And it is going to be cold tonight. And you haven't eaten in quite a while. You must be tired as well, no?"

"I need to get back to Camelot."

"Camelot can wait."

" _No,_ " Arthur pushed Merlin out of his path to start moving again, "It can't. Guinevere will already be worried. I don't want her coming after me." It was something she would do, regardless of her own safety or duty to Camelot.

"Guinevere?"

"My wife."

"Your what?" Merlin again trotted up to Arthur's side from where the human had left him standing.

"My  _wife_. My betrothed. My love." He glanced over at Merlin, at the fairy's perplexity. "Surely you know what a  _wife_  is? You aren't  _that_  uncivilized?"

"The word... sounds  _vaguely_  familiar...?"

Arthur sighed. "Never mind." He halted again as Merlin gripped his arm.

"You must come with me!" he whispered.

"I  _told_  you, I'm n—"

Merlin pressed a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Arthur had never seen such dark blue eyes; they looked almost black in the dusk. "Shhh," he exhaled softly, casting a look around. Arthur narrowed his eyes, then tensed when he heard a twig snap.

He gripped Merlin's wrist and pulled his hand from his face, whipping around to scan the trees. There was nothing there.

"You won't see them, but they can see you," Merlin murmured. The hair on the back of Arthur's neck stood up with the shiver that ran down his spine.

"Alright, I'm with you, let's go," he whispered hurriedly.

Merlin grinned, snatching up both of Arthur's hands in his own. Arthur stared down at him uneasily, wondering if he was imagining his sudden nausea.

Vertigo swept over him, and he fell to his knees, regurgitating the contents of his stomach against the cave wall. Apparently not.

 _Wait. Cave wall?_  He lifted his head. When did he get into a cave?

Merlin was crouching on the balls of his feet, leaning over him. "Don't worry, everyone gets sick the first time. It's hard to stomach flight."

" _Flight_?" Arthur choked out. "That wasn't  _flying_!"

"Fairies fly a bit differently than birds." Merlin offered a wry half-smile, leaping to his feet in an almost precarious manner, before hopping over to a fire that was crackling near the cave entrance. "Well, at least now you have an empty stomach for dinner."

"Yeah," Arthur grumbled, "wonderful." He heaved himself up and inched his way along the cave wall, leaning against it for support. His head was still spinning, and the flickering shadows the fire cast along the walls did not help. And now he had no idea where he was, and Gwen was probably worried sick about him, and all of his knights' families... he groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. "If you could...  _fly_ , why don't you just fly me to Camelot?"

"I don't know anything about Camelot. I don't know where it is, first of all, and I wouldn't know where to land." He ladled some of the cauldron's contents into a wooden bowl, moving over to Arthur and pressing it into his hands. "Drink this soup slowly. It will help you feel better."

Arthur wrinkled his nose down at the watery substance. "This isn't soup. This is water with  _plants_  in it."

" _Drink_  it, you spoiled brat."

Arthur glared at him, muttering a few choice words under his breath. But he lifted the bowl to his mouth and took a few sips.

Merlin got his own bowl, and sat down next to Arthur's legs, his back against the wall. "Do you feel better?" Arthur hmphed and took another sip. Merlin smiled and drank his own soup.

With his dizziness gone, Arthur got a better look around. There was what he assumed to be a chair of some sort, which was actually a rock, but there was a small pile of books beside it. In the far corner there was a hammock made out of vines, a multi-colored blanket of moss and leaves on it, and under the hammock sat a small wooden chest. Aside from those and the cauldron over the fire, Merlin didn't seem to have very many possessions. Arthur eyed the pile of books, not recognizing them from their covers alone. It was strange enough that Merlin was literate, let alone had the money to purchase  _books_ , those most coveted of possessions.

"The books fell out of a wagon in my woods, so I took them."

Arthur startled, looking down at the man. "I- I wasn't- did I say that out loud?"

"No, but you do a poor job of hiding your thoughts."

"You're just like my wife," Arthur muttered. "I have no idea how she reads my mind like she does."

Merlin shifted, putting his bowl aside and standing up. "What is a 'wife' anyway? You never explained." He reached out and began pulling on the end of Arthur's overtunic.

"Your wife is the woman you are married to—what are you doing?" He stepped back a bit as Merlin pulled his outer shirt up. "Stop it!"

"What is this?" He couldn't see over the fabric in his eyes, but he felt Merlin picking at his chainmail.

"It's protection. Will you let go of me?" He swatted Merlin's hand off of his shirt, and Merlin dropped it, looking at him.

"It doesn't look very comfortable."

"It's not supposed to  _be_  comfortable. It's supposed to be armor."

"It didn't work very well for your men."

"That's because it's  _iron_ ," Arthur hissed, not quite enjoying the reminder of his dead knights. "Like our swords." He yanked his sword from its sheath and shoved it dangerously close to Merlin's nose. " _Get it_?"

Merlin didn't even flinch, blinking at Arthur over the blade by his face. "I'm sorry. I upset you."

" _Yes_ , you did," Arthur growled, sheathing his sword again. He returned Merlin's unnerving stare, though he doubted his gaze was as unnerving. Those blue eyes gave him a strange tickle in his stomach. When they didn't move from his face after several long seconds, Arthur tightened his fist, debating the temptation to punch him.

Then he remembered the faceless knight standing over him, the gripping fear, and the pale face that came out of nowhere and screamed at him to run.

The man—fairy— _had_  saved his life, after all.

Arthur inhaled slowly, turning away from Merlin and looking down at the soup he had spilled over his gloves. "Never mind," he said gruffly. "It's fine." Merlin grinned and pressed his face close to Arthur's again. His lack of understanding personal space was also getting on Arthur's nerves. Maybe he  _could_  punch him, just to force some sense and caution into the idiot.

"What is married?"

Arthur looked at him, having to pull back a bit to do so. He wanted to be surprised, but by now he didn't really care. The man didn't know what  _chainmail_  was, after all. "Marriage is when you swear to devote your life to one person."

"Ah." Merlin began picking at Arthur's hood. "So you are married to a woman, and she is your wife... what if you are married to a man?"

"Then he is your husband."

"So those knights of yours, are your husbands?"

"W-what?! No!" Arthur stumbled a bit, then elbowed Merlin away from him and his hood. "I'm not married to them! You can only be married to one person! You can only love one person!"

"So you don't love your knights? But I saw you willing to die for them. Isn't that love?"

"Well—no—I do—you're completely missing the point!"

"It just seems strange, is all. Who decided you can only marry one person? What happens if you love more than one?"

"You  _don't_. Not the same way, anyway." Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just forget it. You're giving me a headache."

"Okay then." Merlin pulled the bowl from Arthur, since most of the soup had been spilled out anyway. "We'll sleep now, then leave early tomorrow." He walked over to the fire to dump the uneaten contents back into the cauldron.

Arthur watched him, then cast a wary eye around. "Sleep... where?"

"You can sleep on my hammock. I don't mind sleeping on the floor. But you better take off that...  _armor_. You look heavy enough without it on, and I don't know if my hammock can support that weight."

"Alright, calm down, I was going to take it off anyway." He pulled his overtunic off, then unbuckled his belt and sword sheath and dropped it with the chainmail on top of the tunic. Then his gloves, and boots.

Merlin looked expectantly at the bundle of clothes now on the ground. "You're just going to leave that there?"

Arthur looked between the pile and Merlin, scowling. "I'm a  _king_. I don't pick up my clothes. That's servant work."

"How does someone become a servant?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're  _born_  as one."

"Just as you were born a king?"

"Exactly."

"And what if you had not been born a king, Arthur? What do you think you would have been born as?"

Arthur stood still, and Merlin watched the range of emotions pass over his face. Confusion, bewilderment, rejection, and anger. His scowl deepened. "That is not something you ask a king!" he burst out, stepping close to Merlin. "Were we in Camelot, I would have your head for such impudence!"

Merlin gave a small smile. "Alas, we are not. So you ought to think about it." He walked over to the hammock and spread the multi-patched blanket across it. "Have a good night's sleep, Arthur." Merlin turned and met the king's stare, holding the angry light eyes with his own solemn dark ones. The mood in Arthur's shifted, from anger to intrigue, and then Merlin was flitting past him and out of the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is caught up now with what I have posted on ff.net so updates will be slow (like once a week or less). If you enjoy please comment and let me know!


	5. Merlin is immediately smitten with Gwen and the Counsel is not immediately smitten with Merlin

v.

Arthur woke the next morning with a cinch in his back and every muscle in his limbs aching. He sat up, rocking the hammock slightly, and rolled his shoulders. Then he turned and glanced around the cave. Merlin was leaning between the wall and the rock chair, asleep. Arthur got up slowly, still rubbing his sore arms, and walked over. He kicked Merlin’s foot, and the fairy blinked awake.

“Shouldn’t you be keeping watch?”

“Uh...” Merlin rubbed his head. Arthur was glad to see him in a muddled state for once, and he suppressed a superior smile. “No. No one can see this place, it’s protected.” Merlin looked up, noticing Arthur’s skepticism. “Trust me.” He pushed himself onto his feet and took Arthur’s hand to begin digging his thumbs into the calloused skin of the king’s palm. Arthur pulled back, anger twinging his eyebrows together.

“What are you doing?”

“Massage. You are sore, no?” Merlin eyed the hand that was still methodically rubbing his upper arm. Arthur dropped it to his side.

“I don’t need your help, thanks.” He turned and walked over to his pile of clothes, beginning to re-dress himself. “Bring me back home. Now.”

“I told you, I don’t know where it is. I can’t fly there.”

Arthur sighed. “Of course. Then bring me back to the battle field and I will walk from there.”

“Don’t you want to eat first?”

Arthur glanced at the ‘soup’ that was still left over from last night. “No thank you.” He finished cinching his belt, then moved back over to Merlin. He held out his hands, closing his eyes. “Now take me there.”

Merlin stood, watching the man for a few seconds, an amused half-smile playing on his lips. He looked so solemn... but more than a little silly. Why did he close his eyes? Just as he felt Arthur growing restless, he clasped his hands over the king’s and dug his toes into the ground.

In another second, he was gripping Arthur’s elbows to keep him upright, now standing several yards from the bloody path. “Here we are.” He heaved the larger man to his feet and let go of him. “Show me the way.”

“What?” Arthur ran his hand through his hair, trying to regain his senses through the nausea.

“Show me the way to this _Camelot_ of yours.”

“I assumed you...” he pressed a hand to his stomach, swallowing his sickness, “wouldn’t want to come.”

“I don’t. Not really. But it may be helpful to know where this city is. Plus, I need to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t get too rambunctious.”

“ _Rambunctious_? I’m not a _child_.”

“All the more damage you can do.” Merlin gave Arthur’s glare a pleasant smile, then gestured down the path. “Go on now.” Arthur eyed him for a minute, then turned and started along the trail home.

The trees were just starting to thin, a sign that they were getting closer to farmland, when loud commands echoed against the grey sky. Arthur recognized the deep voice immediately as Leon, his Earl Constable. The distance still sounded a trek away, but if it was close enough to hear… they must have been up hours before dawn, gathering and preparing the troops to set out at exactly first light. Arthur picked up speed, sprinting the first leg before slowing to a jog as he approached where he estimated the troops would be. Sure enough, through the scattered trees marched two hundred men, perhaps more. Leon led them up front on his golden horse, and beside him, on a lively bay, rode Guinevere.

“Damned, Gwen,” Arthur muttered. He should have known she would have come personally, despite the much more urgent need for her to remain with Camelot.

“Is that your wife?” He jumped at the voice right behind his head, forgetting Merlin was still with him. “She looks magnificent. I’d like to meet her.”

“Well, you’re about to. Just stay behind me.” Arthur shoved Merlin’s chest to better emphasize that point, then took a deep breath and set off at a jog again to meet the oncoming ranks along the path.

Leon halted his steed and the men as he saw the oncoming man, but Guinevere recognized him.

“Arthur!” she cried, swinging off her horse and sprinting to reach him. Winded as he was, he swept her into his arms and swung her around happily as she hugged herself to his shoulders. “Thank God! Oh thank God, you are here! I feared the worst when you didn’t return and no messenger came. Where are the knights?” She looked around over his shoulder, her eyes falling to the grinning man standing several paces behind the king. “Who is this?”

Arthur held her at arms’ length, his happiness to see her dropping like a stone. “They are all dead, Gwen. All of them.” Her expression fell into bewildered horror, and he gripped her upper arm to keep her steady. “I know—I know, but it has been a long night for me. Please let us just return home, and I will explain it all over a good, hearty breakfast. This is a…” He looked over his shoulder at Merlin still standing there grinning like a fool. “This is someone who helped me. He’ll be staying with us temporarily.”

He took her back down the path with an arm around her waist and said the same to Leon. One of the cavalry knights dismounted, and he took his place on the horse. He gestured to Merlin. “If you don’t know how to ride, you can ride behind me.”

“No, thank you, I would rather walk.” He brushed a hand down the horse’s muzzle, eying the heavy armor along its back and sides. “Poor thing,” he murmured. “It doesn’t deserve such treatment.”

Arthur bit back an angry sigh and ignored the look Leon and Gwen exchanged. He wouldn’t address the man’s bizarre thought process here, though he had been hoping he would have kept his tongue among so many others.

“Let’s go!” he called, spinning the horse around, forcing Merlin to step back to avoid getting trampled. The troops parted to let him pass through them.

 

He sat at the long table with his counsel over a larger breakfast than he had eaten in months. Even in the great hall, the fireplace was left unlit because the warmth from the food and bodies was enough to heat the enormous room. Guinevere sat to his left, and to his right, where Gwaine had sat for years, the wooden chair was empty and silent. To the right of that sat Merlin, perched on his chair like an animal.

His presence alone had given the counsel pause, but his strange behaviors had them all eying each other uneasily. Though Arthur wasn’t convinced it was _only_ his behavior causing everyone discomfort. The outlandish aura Merlin carried about him like a cloud seemed more obvious here, in civilization with walls and furnishings. He did not have the presence of a human, though neither of an animal. It was a peculiar sense of somewhere between the two, almost archaic, like a person from before civilization had walked in and sat down to feast with them.

When Arthur had his fill of roast quail and meaty, salty soups, he sat straight in his chair and surveyed the people around him. Just that movement caused a hush to fall over the table, as his counsel watched and waited.

“Yesterday, we incurred a great loss.” Arthur’s voice rang across the table, expanding to fill the hall, and even Merlin looked up and started paying attention. “Fifty of the finest knights this kingdom had to offer are dead. But their deaths were not in vain. We have learned valuable information from what happened there last evening.” He swallowed, looking over at his queen. She sat as straight and unmoving as him, meeting his gaze with solemn encouragement. “First, we have learned that King Gareth has done the unthinkable. He is using magic in this war. But I know one of the tricks up his sleeve now, and we can be better prepared next time.” He slammed his fist onto the table to silence the murmurs that had kicked up at the word ‘magic.’ The men quieted at once. “The fight is not won on magic alone. Only the selfish and weak use such methods at a time like this. We have not lost, and we will continue fighting with the strength and valor I know us all to uphold.”

He settled back down, clearing his throat. “Leon, I need you to assemble a group to recover the fallen soldiers. Hurth, contact the clergy and have them prepare. We must give the knights and their families proper services.” The men rose from their seats, but Arthur lifted a hand to halt them. “And men… this is Merlin. I would not be here right now if it were not for him. He is to be treated as an honored guest whenever he is here and for however long he stays.”

The counsel exchanged glances, then dipped their heads in acquiesce. Arthur waved at them to leave, and the ten stood and filed out of the hall.

Arthur looked to Merlin. “You haven’t touched your plate. Is my food not to your liking?”

Merlin smiled. “I would not touch it in a million years.” Outside of his vision, Arthur heard Gwen’s sharp, surprised inhale. Merlin’s gaze flicked from Guinevere back to the king, and he dipped his head, though the smirk across his face proved it was a mockery. “I would not touch it in a million years… Your Majesty.”

Arthur surveyed the feast laid across the table thoughtfully. “You do not eat meat,” he said. It wasn’t a question, it was clear enough, and he thought he should have known beforehand. Merlin’s smirk flickered, just for a moment, to a genuine smile.

“That would seem to be the case, yes.”

“Very well. I will have a fruit platter brought to your room. A page will show you where it is.” He waved a hand, and one of the servant boys from the corner of the room stepped forward, head bowed low.

Merlin eyed the boy with something bordering disgust. “I thought I would be staying with you.”

“I have duties to attend to. Quite a few more than usual, in regards to the new… situation that has arisen. I will send for you later today. You may explore the castle at your leisure. Perhaps find a good spot to… land.” Merlin blinked at him, before biting back a laugh that became an amused exhale. Arthur mirrored his smile, then stood and held out an arm for Guinevere. She took it and followed along beside him out of the hall, though she turned her head to watch Merlin as they walked, until he was out of sight.

“How on earth did you meet this man? What did you mean by that last sentence?” she asked as soon as they were alone in the hall.

Arthur sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s… a long story. And right now, I need to focus on other things. Can you find a fast messenger for me? I need to get a message to Lord William before nightfall. They need to be stealthy, too; I’m not sure what the situation over there is."


	6. Arthur already regrets his every decision

vi.

The day dragged on, yet there wasn’t nearly enough time for everything Arthur needed to do. He was still working by candlelight, writing letters to his men’s families, when the bell for mid-night tolled. The door to his right opened, and he was sure it was Guinevere come to chastise him before a different familiar voice spoke.

“You did not send for me.”

He looked over at Merlin, opening his mouth to respond, then just closed it again to finish writing his sentence. He placed the quill back into the inkpot and turned to Merlin, crossing his arms. He was too tired to suffer through the fairy’s biting remarks.

“I have been busy. I thought you would be asleep by now.”

“You look far more tired than me and _you_ are not asleep.”

Arthur sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I have responsibilities. You do not.”

Merlin plopped himself onto the floor right where he stood, crossing his legs and gripping his ankles. Arthur bit back his annoyance. The rudeness of it was one thing, but the implication that the man would be staying there for a while bothered him more. “This ‘wife’ of yours found me and talked to me. She had a lot of questions.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. She answered many of mine, though. I like her.”

Arthur smiled at that. Gwen was too charming to be disliked by anyone. But he was more surprised to hear Merlin had kept his mouth shut. It belied a diplomatic intelligence he hadn’t thought the man capable of. Not that anyone would believe the stuff he spouted. Arthur almost didn’t believe it, and he had experienced it.

He stretched his arms up and back, then with a labored sigh stood from his chair. Merlin alighted to his feet and followed Arthur out of the room.

“I am going to my bed chambers,” Arthur told him, trying to keep impatience from his voice. “You should go to yours.”

“What are bed chambers?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why he assumed Merlin had any grasp of cultivation. “It is the room where your bed is. It is where you sleep. You were shown to yours earlier.”

“Oh, _that_ horrible place,” Merlin said, his lip curling up in disgust. Arthur stopped walking and looked at him. It was the best guest chambers in the castle, lavish and comfortable and with anything anyone could possibly need. Merlin just stared back at him, innocuous and confused. “What?”

“Nothing.” Arthur shook his head and kept walking. “Can you find your way there again?”

“I thought I would sleep with you.”

Arthur stopped again, this time turning on the man. “You may _not_!”

Merlin smiled in the face of his appall. “You sound horrified. But we have already slept together.”

Arthur hissed under his breath, grabbing Merlin’s arm. Thankfully there were no servants or anyone else wandering the halls so late at night. “Do not say that, you don’t know what you are saying! We did not share a bed. We slept in proximity, because there was no other choice. Now, there are choices. And _I_ am choosing to sleep next to my wife. _Only_ my wife. If you do not want to stay in your given quarters then you are free to… _fly_ … back to your cave.” He released Merlin and stormed off down the hall, his face flushed red with what he hoped seemed like anger and not the fluster brewing beneath the surface. He half-expected the fairy to follow, irritatingly oblivious as he seemed to be, but Merlin only stood and watched him leave.

 

He lifted the covers and got into the large bed as carefully as he could. It did not matter. Gwen shifted and made a small noise, then sat up and blinked at him through tired, squinted eyes.

“What time is it? You are only getting into bed now?”

“Don’t fret,” Arthur soothed, pulling her into his arms since she was already awake. He kissed her hair, frizzy and unkempt from sleep. “ _I_ actually slept last night. I am sure I cannot say the same for you.” It was the wrong thing to imply. She tensed and hit his chest with a fair amount of force.

“No, I did not! Because my husband and king did not return from the battle he promised he would send word over! They all died, Arthur! You could be dead, too! What would I do then?” Her voice broke at the last sentence and she buried her face into his chest.

He set his jaw, willing himself not to cry either, and held her. “I know, Guinevere. I am sorry. But I am not dead, and I don’t plan to be any time soon.” He rubbed her shoulder, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “It is my fault our men are dead. But I will not be taken by surprise again. Merlin is a… traveler. He has seen many things, and he has seen magic like this before. He can help us. We will win this war.”

 

Arthur noticed Havor was more unsettled than usual as his manservant dressed him, but he thought nothing of it. The man already had a nervous disposition and changing the color of his bed sheets could set him off. But as Arthur walked the halls to the audience chamber, he noticed the way other servants murmured nervously to each other before stopping to bow to him, and castle residents cast him anxious looks as he strode past.

The guards by the chamber doors were the first to address him about the state of unrest in the castle. “M’lord…” one said, his palm on the door handle as he hesitated to open it. “Your guest has… redecorated.”

Arthur snarled. _Merlin._ “Open the door,” he commanded. The guards looked at each other, then swung open the doors.

Merlin sat in the king’s throne, legs tossed unceremoniously over an armrest and braiding flowers into a circlet. The throne itself was unrecognizable, grown over with ivy and flowers. Tall, wispy grass carpeted the throne dais, even flooding over its sides and down the steps. On the walls, overtaking the tapestries, more ivy crept along the stones. Some early-rising nobles and knights stood on the floor, their confused and excited chittering not appearing to bother Merlin.

Arthur stormed up to the dais, his subjects scrambling to part for him once they realized he was there.

“Merlin!” he roared. Merlin peered down at him, a delighted smile splitting his face at the sight of the king.

“Finally, you arrive.” He swung his legs down and stood, giving Arthur a flourishing bow, the arm with the flower circlet held straight to the side. “Do you like my work?”

“No. I. Do not.” Arthur growled through clenched teeth. He marched up the stairs in two strides and snatched the flower ring from Merlin. “What could have possibly made you think this was a good idea?”

“Your wife,” Merlin said with a smile. Arthur paused, not having expected that as an answer.

“What?” he snapped.

“She told me last night how she used to love escaping to nature, and how she hasn’t had the chance because she’s been stuck in these dreary halls. I thought I would surprise her.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it without saying a thing. He glared at Merlin as he tried to assemble his thoughts into a coherent rage that would wipe that infuriating grin off his face. He didn’t get the chance. Merlin swiped the flower ring back from him as he passed Arthur to hop off the dais. The crowd below parted for him like he had the plague, which he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about.

“It _is_ intolerably stuffy in here. I’ve no idea how you live and work within these suffocating walls. No sunlight, no grass, no color. I have improved it.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. The flat chill of his voice was enough to catch the fairy’s attention, and he turned an inquisitive frown to the king. “This is _my_ castle. _My_ chamber. _My_ throne. You had no right to do any of this.” More than the desecration of his throne, Arthur could not believe Merlin would so blatantly expose his abilities. He would have to think of a preposterous explanation for the council. If they found out what Merlin was, he could not imagine the repercussions.

“Everyone, leave!” Arthur ordered, his voice booming throughout the room. “Except Merlin,” he added, leveling a cold, furious gaze onto the man. The room emptied as people rushed out to avoid the wrath of their king.

Merlin dallied closer, the guileless and self-satisfied look on his face making Arthur want to strangle him. How could he not realize?

“You have not been here even a day, and you have already put me in an impossibly difficult situation. How could I possibly explain to my council why or how this mess has grown inside a stone room, overnight no less?”

“Mess?” Merlin repeated, affronted. Arthur’s eyebrows sunk low, and Merlin flicked his hand to dismiss the offense. “Very well, I will clean it up.”

“That does nothing to solve my problem.”

“You seem to think yourself clever, I am positive you will come up with something.” Merlin smiled, sweet as honey. “It will take some time to clean, though. I help things grow, not die.”

“Don’t bother,” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The servants will clean it up.”

“Arthur?” Gwen’s voice broke the tension, and he looked up to see her standing hesitant by the doors. “The guards almost did not let me in. What on earth has happened to the room?”

Merlin looked to Arthur. Arthur sucked his teeth for a moment, then rolled his eyes and waved his hands in approval.

Merlin bounced over to the queen, taking her hand. “A gift for you,” he said, charming and genteel. He whisked her across the room and up the steps, and she followed quite at a loss for words. He gestured with a bow for her to take a seat, in Arthur’s throne. She looked to Arthur, bewildered.

“Go on, my love,” he encouraged, unable to hide his smile. She sat, looking around at the grass and flowers.

“This is remarkable,” she whispered. She looked up again, startled, as Merlin lay the circlet of flowers onto her head. “Oh, a flower crown,” she sighed wistfully, brushing her fingers against one of the delicate purple blossoms. “I used to make these as a child.” She bit back a laugh, pressing a hand to her lips as her eyes sparkled. “I forced my brother to wear them with me and pretend to be fairies.”

Merlin’s grin widened. Arthur shouldered him aside and took Gwen’s hand, kissing the top of it. “You need not pretend, my queen,” he spoke, remaining bowed over her hand. “You are more ethereal and beautiful than a fairy could ever hope to be. Much more intelligent, too.” He smiled against her skin when he heard Merlin’s quiet ‘hmph.’ The look of wonderment and joy on Gwen’s face had him grinning like a fool despite his aversion to looking like Merlin. Maybe the man’s impudence was not the worst thing in the world. His queen’s happiness was worth a thousand impossible explanations.

“Let us make one for Arthur, too,” Merlin said, tugging a flower from the grassy carpet.

Arthur’s smile dropped and he opened his mouth to protest, but Guinevere exclaimed in elated agreement and set to work picking blossoms. Arthur sighed and resigned himself to his fate. His duties could wait an extra hour.


	7. Arthur contemplates how dumb he is and then continues to be dumb

vii.

Arthur spent the rest of the day finishing his immediate responsibilities. He was in the middle of a meeting with the city treasurer when a knock on the door interrupted.

“Open,” Arthur commanded. The guard pulled the door open to the messenger Arthur had sent to Lord William the other day, looking bedraggled and exhausted. He bowed to the king. “We will finish later,” Arthur told the treasurer, standing and guiding him out of the meeting chambers to replace his presence with the messenger.

“Sit,” Arthur said, gesturing to the chair across the table as he sat in his own. The man fell into the other gratefully.

“Your Majesty,” he began, “Lord William was not aware of any troops through his land. He sends his greatest sympathies for the loss of our men. I told him the information you relayed to me, so that he may be prepared if he comes across the same magic.” The messenger produced a sealed letter from his pack, handing it across the table to Arthur. “His reply to your letter was hasty, and he says he will send a longer correspondence soon.”

Arthur broke the seal and scanned its contents. It contained most of what the messenger had just told him but included a plea for a discreet meeting so they could formulate a plan against this new attack.

“Very good. Thank you. Go rest now.” Arthur dismissed the messenger with a wave, and he bowed again before skirting out of the room. The guard closed the door behind him. Arthur sighed and dropped the letter onto the table, pressing his palms over his eyes. That creature really had just been intent on his men. And Arthur had led them straight to it. According to Merlin, it wouldn’t have come to the city if he hadn’t gone to meet it. If he had bided his time instead of jumping to action, his knights could still be alive. Gwaine might still be alive.

He swallowed the knot in his throat, but it didn’t dry the tears in his eyes. Their first meeting, years ago now when Arthur had still been a prince, he had hated Gwaine. The man was smug, brash, and foolhardy. He wanted a place in the king’s knights because he thought he deserved it, even coming from a lowly farmer’s household.

Arthur still remembered the battle that had changed his mind. In enemy territory, their fight had spilled into a nearby village. A mother and her young son had been caught in the middle of the skirmish, and Gwaine had carried the boy as he led the mother to safety. For a man to risk his life for strangers in enemy land… he was more honorable than most of the knights Arthur had fought beside back then.

The friendship they had forged through countless battles over countless years had been stronger than the iron of their swords. Gwaine’s smugness had tempered out to self-confidence and his brashness to courage. He was the finest knight Arthur had had the privilege to fight alongside.

Another knock on the door. He steeled himself, hoping his eyes weren’t too red, and called to the guard.

This time, it was Sir Leon, and he looked stricken. “Your Majesty,” he said, dropping to a knee. “I took men and carts out this morning to gather the fallen knights… they are gone.”

“What?” Arthur stood with such force that he knocked his chair back. The clamor of it hitting the stone floor made Leon flinch. “You had the wrong location.”

“No, Your Majesty. We found blood and pieces of armor, but no men.”

Arthur clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to control his breathing as confusion and anger suffocated him. Leon remained kneeling, looking up at him apprehensively.

“Find Merlin,” Arthur growled. Leon stood slowly, too slowly, and Arthur thrust his finger towards the door. “Go! Both of you!” he yelled to the guard. “Find Merlin and bring him to me!” They scrambled out.

Arthur paced the floor, his mind racing. They were there when he had left yesterday morning. If a convoy came and picked them up, that surely would not have gotten past Lord William or any of the other neighboring territories. But for someone to take fallen enemies at all… only the lowest scum would desecrate the dead and deny them proper burial.

Merlin came into the room, followed closely by Guinevere. Arthur stopped and stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I was talking to Merlin and a guard came and said you demanded his presence.” Gwen looked between them. “Why? What has happened?”

“You should go,” Arthur told her, desperate for her to listen to him. She did not need more horror and stress than she already had.

Gwen crossed her arms and set her jaw in the way that meant she would definitively not listen to him. “You may be in charge of war, but I am still the queen. I have as much a right as you to know every situation within our borders.”

Arthur sighed, waving his hand to show his agreement. “Close the door.”

When that was done, Arthur turned to Merlin. The fairy stood looking bemused and a little bored. A fury at the fairy’s insolence replaced any grief and confusion he was feeling earlier. “The bodies of my men are gone,” he spat. Merlin’s boredom fell from his face in an instant.

“What?” he muttered.

“How?” Arthur growled, grabbing his arms and shaking him. “Where are they? What happened to them?”

Merlin stared back at him, blue eyes wide. “I… I don’t know.” Arthur scowled, and Merlin held up his hands before Arthur could take out his anger on him any further. “Honestly, I don’t know, Arthur. I do not know.”

“We have to go there,” Arthur said, releasing him and turning to look out the window. “We need to look for signs of what happened.”

“No!” Gwen sounded so angry that Arthur turned back to look at her in surprise. “It is too dangerous,” she continued, glaring at him. “You already almost died once. What if this is a trap to make you return so they can finish you? I forbid it.”

Arthur pressed his lips together. He had ignored his wife’s suggestion before, and this is where it had landed him. And she was right, it could certainly be a trap for him. But he could not just ignore this blasphemous mystery and he could not send more of his men to die when he himself would not take that same risk.

When he said nothing, only looked at her, her expression softened. “Arthur, my dear… please. We will send messengers to the other kingdoms and ask if they have seen anything. Leon is capable of searching the area with trackers to discern what happened. You know firsthand that you cannot defeat whatever magic this is. The king of Camelot need not be put at risk.”

“Yes, my love, you are right,” Arthur acquiesced, drawing her closer with a hand on the small of her back. “You are right, as always.” He kissed her, not caring that Merlin stood there watching. The fairy did not seem phased by it anyway. Gwen kissed him back happily, bunching his shirt in her fists.

Arthur released her lips to give instructions. “Go find Leon, he may still be looking for Merlin. Tell him his orders are to gather the best trackers in the castle and return to the spot for a search. Then find three fresh messengers and send them to our neighboring allies for inquiries. Merlin, come with me.” Arthur broke free of Gwen and walked out of the room before he could hear any questions or protests.

He strode down the hallway, not bothering to look back. When he finally did, he was glad to find Merlin had indeed followed. For once, the man had no snark, only a look of perplexity as his eyes swept back and forth in thought. Arthur walked all the way to his bed chambers and pulled Merlin in after him. He took his scabbard from its table and buckled it around his waist. Then he lifted his sword from its mount along the wall and sheathed it. Finished, he turned to Merlin. The fairy still stared at the floor in thought.

“Take me back there,” he ordered.

Merlin met his gaze in surprise. “You told Guinevere you wouldn’t.”

“No, I made no such promise,” Arthur said, closing the door to his chambers. “She is right, of course. It is likely a trap. But it is a risk I am willing to take. I need to see it with my own eyes, and I need to find the truth. Sixty bodies, heavy men made heavier with armor, do not disappear without a trace.” Arthur held out his hands and stared back at Merlin. His eyes were hard, demanding obedience.

Merlin could not think of any magic but illusion that would make bodies vanish. And that was exactly what one would use to draw out a stubborn, curious king. But for a human to use magic to corrupt a Dryad would eliminate their ability to use illusion magic. “Arthur, it is not wise,” he warned.

“I do not care." The two men stared each other down. Finally, Merlin took a deep breath through his nose and took Arthur’s hands.

“If anything happens, I am bringing you back here whether it is your will or not,” Merlin told him, digging his fingers into the back of Arthur’s hands.

He thought the king would protest, or question why he even cared. Instead he simply nodded and replied, “Very well.”

This time when Merlin landed, Arthur remained upright. He was getting better. Arthur tried to pull his hands free, but Merlin still had a tight grip on them. “I mean it, Arthur,” he told him. “This is suspicious. We must both be cautious.”

“I understand!” Arthur yanked his hands out of Merlin’s and scowled at him. Then he surveyed the path. No black tree.

And no bodies.

Some weapons were still strewn about, though as Arthur inspected them he realized only shields were left. All swords were gone. Some mail coifs remained, along with a couple gauntlets and even some sabatons. The underbrush was dark with dried blood, but not a single piece of body could be seen.

Arthur made to step forward, but Merlin grabbed his shirt. “Wait,” he said, his voice soft and low. “This isn’t right.” Arthur glanced at him as Merlin looked around the woods, then up at the sky. “This isn’t illusion magic…”

“Illusion magic? What are you talking about?” Arthur asked.

Merlin held up a finger for silence. It was a rude gesture to anyone, let alone a king, but Arthur shouldered aside his offense and watched.

Merlin raised his other fingers to turn his gesture of silence into an order to remain standing. Arthur complied with an annoyed sigh and watched him walk down the path. Merlin looked at the patterns of blood and broken underbrush as he stepped cautiously through it all. It looked to him as though the bodies had stood up and walked off on their own.

His stomach dropped as his body drenched in cold horror. Blood magic.

Arthur shouted and Merlin whipped around to see the king grappling with an unfamiliar man. He had taken Arthur by surprise, as the king had not even had time to unsheathe his sword.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, sprinting down the path. It was too short a distance for flight, and too far away to use magic on the attacker. As Merlin ran closer, the stranger got the upper hand, pinning one of Arthur’s arms behind his back and hooking his elbow around the king’s neck.

Arthur reached out, and just as Merlin took his hand, the ground fell out from under them.


	8. Merlin and Arthur play Dungeons and Dragons except minus the Dragons

viii.

Merlin landed in a tangled heap with Arthur, breathless and dizzy. Arthur pushed at him, and Merlin sat up as best he could, but a leg trapped under one of Arthur’s prevented him.

“Get off,” Arthur hissed.

“Move your leg,” Merlin huffed in turn. With some more shoving and grunting they managed to untangle themselves. Merlin popped to his feet, dusting off his shirt as he looked around. Arthur pushed himself up more slowly, still muttering some choice curses.

They were in a dungeon. They stood behind rusted bars, and the only light was through a thin window slant in a nearby staircase. With the afternoon light flooding through, it was just enough to see by. The staircase spiraled up and out of sight in only a few steps. Judging from the mold and dust covering the room, it was an old forgotten place. Yet, the cell door was chained shut with a shiny lock. And the magic—it weighed heavy over Merlin’s head, suffocating, fresh, and recently laid.

“Why did you bring us _here?_ ” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked at him. “I did not do this,” he said, voice hushed. Arthur went silent at that, looking around with more scrutiny. The change only lasted a moment.

“Well, take us out of here!” Arthur ordered. Merlin held out his hands and hoped Arthur could not see his uneasiness. Arthur took his hands without a word, holding tighter to them than usual.

Merlin barely got his thoughts through the stone walls before he crashed into something else and ricocheted back to where he had been standing. The force knocked him off balance and this time it was Arthur who held the fairy up as he stumbled.

“What?” Arthur could not prevent the bewilderment in his voice as he steadied the other man. “What happened?”

“You didn’t feel that?” Merlin asked. Arthur just gave him a puzzled look. Merlin pulled free of the king’s hold and pressed a hand to his head. “There is a strong magic here. It will not let me past.” He looked at the door, using the full strength of his magic to will it open. The door rattled but did not budge.

“Oh no,” Merlin breathed.

Arthur looked hard at him. “Your magic doesn’t work?”

“Such a pity, isn’t it?” They whipped around to face a man sitting in a shadowed corner. Merlin knew he had not been there before. “So difficult, to live in this world without magic.”

“Gareth!” Arthur hissed. He grabbed onto the cell bars and shook them but, rusted though they were, they did not budge under all his strength. Gareth remained sitting, watching the display with a neutral sort of amusement.

“King Arthur,” the man greeted warmly. “I had no idea you had a magical being in your armory.”

“I don’t,” Arthur growled. “He is a friend. I don’t use him like a tool.”

“Well…” Merlin quipped, his voice raised an octave in disagreement. Arthur threw a glare at him over his shoulder and Merlin tossed his hands up. “You _are_ quite demanding.”

“Come with me, fairy,” Gareth said, standing. His dark eyes held Merlin’s, unwavering and sincere. “I am on your side. Humans encroach on your land, they build cities and destroy the very foundation of magic. If we let it continue, you, and all others like you, will perish. Magic will be whatever tattered remains are left behind of the wasted forests.”

“What is he talking about?” Arthur asked, scowling at Merlin, but the fairy did not acknowledge him or his question. He stared back at Gareth, his face unreadable.

“Join us, and we will stop this madness before it can ruin the earth further.” Gareth held out a hand, though he was not close enough for Merlin to take it. The fairy contemplated it, and for a fearful moment Arthur thought he would accept. Then he spoke, his voice so cold and dangerous that Arthur’s hair stood on end.

“You are the one using blood magic,” Merlin said. “You are the one who corrupted the Dryad.”

“Yes,” King Gareth said, dropping his hand and returning Merlin’s coldness with the same demeanor. “I will do what must be done. Sacrifices must be made for the good of many. I was hoping _you_ would not be one. Alas.” He shook his head in sorrow and turned away. As his image faded, another appeared. This one shimmered to life inside the cell. As astonished as Arthur was to see King Gareth disappearing before his very eyes, he turned to see whatever monster he would need to face next.

Gwaine stood tall and silent as he surveyed the two before him.

“Gwaine!” Arthur gaped at his friend. “You’re alive!” He had no time to act on his elation. The knight drew his sword and raised it above Merlin. “Don’t, he’s with me!” Arthur exclaimed. Merlin dove from Gwaine’s strike and the sword rang as it collided with the stone floor.

“It’s not him!” Merlin yelled to Arthur. “He is not who he was! Cut off his head!” Arthur stared at Merlin in horror. He could not fathom killing his best knight—his best friend. Gwaine turned, his movement clumsy, and walked towards Merlin again.

Arthur drew his sword, but hesitated. Merlin scrambled backwards, helpless without his magic, as Gwaine advanced on him. He raised his sword above Merlin. Arthur jumped in front of the blow, catching it with his own blade. He shoved the other man’s sword to the side and Gwaine stumbled. “Gwaine, please!” he pleaded. Gwaine straightened again and heaved his sword back up. “I know you’re in there somewhere!”

“Arthur, he’s not,” Merlin said through grit teeth. “Your friend is dead. This isn’t him. You need to kill this thing.”

Gwaine turned his attack to Arthur now, slicing at him. Arthur caught the strike with ease and tossed it aside again. “So I can’t kill your precious Dryad but I’m supposed to murder my friend?” Arthur hissed over his shoulder at the fairy.

“That’s not the same!” Merlin barked. Gwaine lurched forward and Arthur sidestepped the thrust. “The Dryad is not dead, just corrupted!” With Arthur no longer an obstacle to reach Merlin, Gwaine turned his attention back to the fairy and stepped toward him again.

Arthur hissed out an exhale and moved to block again. “Stay behind me, Merlin!” he spat.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “This thing won’t get tired, Arthur. It’s not targeting you because Gareth knows you don’t have the guts to kill it. Are you going to stand here for eternity trading blows?”

“No, I’m going to stop him from killing you until you think of a way out of here!” Arthur shoved Gwaine aside again, trying to knock his sword from his hand, but the man only stumbled to the side.  He turned to look at Merlin. “So hurry up!”

“There isn’t a way out of here!” Merlin threw up his hands at Arthur, exasperated. He seemed about to continue, until Arthur saw his gaze flick to the side and his face fall. The king spun around, but he raised his sword too late.

Arthur let out a ragged gasp as Gwaine’s blade sliced into his right side. With no armor to prevent it, it struck deep. Gwaine, emotionless, ripped the sword back out. Arthur choked on the pain, staggering and nearly dropping his own sword.

“Arthur!” Merlin screamed, rushing forward, but Gwaine raised his sword again and stopped Merlin’s path. Merlin scrambled back as Gwaine advanced on him, but he hit the stone wall and stood cornered there. In vain, he threw more magic at the living corpse, but it fizzled the second it left his body.

Arthur grunted as he lifted his sword and struggled forward. Gwaine was still in the armor he wore at his last battle, save his helm. Arthur bashed his blade against Gwaine’s back. His sword sliced through the cloth but hit chainmail. It didn’t matter, as it was enough to get Gwaine’s attention.

He turned to Arthur again, unperturbed. Arthur thought he himself would topple over any second. His side radiated pain throughout his torso and weakened his hold on his sword. Every breath made the wound pulse with pain, but the shallow breaths he could take only made him feel more breathless.

Gwaine advanced on him. He stepped back, nearly as clumsy as his attacker now. “Gwaine,” he panted. Some foolish part of him still held onto hope that his friend would return. “Remember yourself. Remember who we were. Please—” his voice broke and he swallowed tears and pain. “I don’t want to kill you,” he whispered.

Gwaine readied his sword for another blow. Arthur pressed his trembling lips together and waited.

As the man’s blade descended, Arthur caught it against his hilt with a grunt of pain and flipped his sword in his palm so his blade was atop Gwaine’s. With a quick downward force, Arthur ripped the sword from his hand. As it clattered to the floor Arthur spun his sword again and swept it, clean and easy, through Gwaine’s neck.

His friend’s head toppled to the floor by his feet. The body went limp and followed, thudding to the stones. No blood ran from his severed parts. Instead a thick black substance, akin to tar, bubbled to the floor.

Arthur stepped back, horrified. He did not know whether he was horrified at what Gwaine had become, or what he done.

He dropped to his knees, letting his sword fall and his side throb as he stared at the empty eyes of his best friend. Merlin rushed to his side, muttering in frustration, and Arthur shoved him away weakly when he began inspecting his wound.

“If I could use my magic, I could heal you!” Merlin burst out. He gripped his hair and growled into his teeth. “How do you people live without magic?”

“Well, I will not be living much longer, so it does not matter,” Arthur murmured. With a groan, he slid off his knees and laid himself down on the floor. The ceiling was the same grey rock, slimy with mold. “If you manage to get out of here, tell Guinevere how much I adore her,” he sighed. “Tell her she is the world, the sun, and the moon.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Tell her that her foolish, stupid husband is sorry, and that she needs to be strong for Camelot.”

“Stop talking! Save your strength. I’ll—I’ll find a way out of here.” Merlin sat up and looked around. “Humans become adhered to whatever element they cast first. As a fairy, I can cast any magic of any element. But that means my magic is not as focused, as strong, as a human’s can be.” He looked down at Arthur to see the man had his eyes closed. “Arthur!” Merlin gripped his arm and the king opened his eyes and scowled at him. “Stay awake!” Merlin implored. “Listen to me talk.”

“I don’t want to listen to your nonsensical babbling,” Arthur said, but his usual vitriol was lost in the pained whispering.

“It’s not nonsensical! With your enemy using magic, it’s important for you to understand these things.” Arthur just shut his eyes again. Merlin forced out an exhale and closed his eyes as well. He needed to calm down if he wanted to get them out.

He took five deep breaths, steadying himself. Then he emanated his magic out from his core, prodding at the magic in the air. It was pure magic, the essence of life. For Gareth to cast something like that, he needed more than a knowledge of magic. He needed a deep understanding of it. Merlin had never known a human to be capable of such comprehension.

Pure magic was stronger than almost any other, but it still had weaknesses. And it was still aligned with life elements. And like all life, it inclined closer and closer to death with every second.

Merlin opened his eyes and looked down at Arthur. Blood soaked most of his shirt and was pooling slowly around his torso. His breathing was labored and weak. Death was a part of life, and it was a part that Merlin had been familiar with from the moment of his creation. But for the first time in his thousand years, he was scared of it.

“Just keep breathing,” Merlin begged Arthur. “I will get us out.”


	9. Merlin is like "hey I know I'm pan af but how about we not fall in love with this beautiful moron?"

ix.

Merlin ignored Arthur’s raspy breaths to explore the magic barrier. The barrier permeated the air, but the strongest of it was entwined into the stone. Merlin went to the wall and pressed his hand to it. The magic that had been forced there pulsed angrily beneath his palm. He had never done anything like it before but he was certain that with enough care, he could handle the pure magic without disturbing the affectation that would throw his magic back at him. Slowly, so as not to disturb the barrier, he drew the life from the stones. Then, using the magic against itself, he forced it back in. It was easy enough after that, accelerating the life force until it weakened and began wilting into death.

When the barrier was weak enough, he reached beyond it. It would still detect a sudden and strong force, like flight, but Merlin knew what would get through. Nature grew outside of the stone walls, he could feel that much from the moment they landed here. He grew the weeds, the mold, the ivy. Digging into crumbled weak spots and snaking through holes in the stone, nature lived out its natural course in a matter of minutes.

Merlin took a few steps back, pulling the ivy along with him. The stones began to crack and strain. Finally, in a plume of dust, the stone crumbled. A cragged hole gaped open in its place, allowing fresh air and sunlight to stream through the dust. His plan had worked, but he was sure Gareth would detect the disturbance.

Merlin returned to Arthur’s side. “Can you get up?” he asked. Arthur lay unresponsive. Merlin grit his teeth and hooked his arms under the man.

Flight magic could easily transport Merlin and Arthur and another number of men with ease. Using only his physical strength, Merlin could barely manage to drag the man across the floor. He had met kings before. They tended to the portly side. Arthur, however, for his small stature, was built entirely of muscle. Merlin would have gladly traded for a bit of fat in that moment.

He huffed his way to the wall without stopping to rest. As he predicted, moments later, Gareth came barreling down the stairs. He did not bother to use magic—in a panicked state, it did not come naturally to humans.

“Stop!” Gareth screeched, first to Merlin, then he turned around and shouted to the air. “Stop them!”

Knights stepped out from shadows, which clung after them like a viscous substance. Arthur’s knights. Merlin ignored them and heaved Arthur over the largest rubble and stumbled into the light of day.

As the magic lifted from his shoulders, the air drawing fresh and light into his lungs, Merlin met Gareth’s angry gaze, and smiled. He flew.

He landed in the middle of the dreary room Arthur had deemed his ‘bed chambers’. Merlin had not spent much time there, but it seemed a better place to bring Arthur than the king’s chambers where any number of people could be.

Arthur groaned as Merlin lay him on the floor. He leaned over the king, not bothering to situate himself properly, and held his hands to the gaping wound.

As the flesh closed over itself, Arthur stirred. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but Merlin held him down. “You lost a lot of blood,” he said, looking down at the rush mats turned red and sticky. Arthur looked down at them too, then shoved Merlin’s hands away to sit up.

“What happened?” he asked groggily, running his hand over the scar on his side. It didn’t hurt at all, as though it had healed years ago. His torn and bloodied shirt told otherwise. He squinted at Merlin, who was grinning back at him with his usual jester expression. “I thought there was no way out.”

Merlin shrugged, nonchalant but clearly quite pleased with himself. “I found a way.”

“Next time, find a way faster,” Arthur hissed. He started to stand, but all at once his head felt heavy and his vision turned black. Merlin caught the king as he toppled forward, falling back against his heels under the weight. In another moment Arthur’s senses came back and he looked up at Merlin in a daze.

Merlin’s breath hitched. Sunlight fell across Arthur’s face and lit his eyes up like the blue of a quiet sea. It made Arthur look a way Merlin had never seen before. The moment was lost not a second later as Arthur shoved himself off of Merlin and sat up again.

Merlin recovered from the spell quick enough. “I told you, you lost too much blood. You have to rest and drink water.”

“I don’t have time for that,” Arthur said, but he remained sitting. “Does anyone know we’re here? Did anyone notice we were gone?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said. “There was no one here when we landed. Certainly, anyone will take a look at you and realize something occurred.”

Arthur looked down at his wrecked shirt. He noticed his empty scabbard for the first time and darted his eyes across the room before they fell onto Merlin again. Merlin was already intimately familiar with that look to know what was coming. “You left my sword?!” Arthur spat. “We must go back and get it! We need to retrieve Gwaine’s body, too.”

“No,” Merlin said.

Arthur paused and looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“No,” Merlin repeated with a shrug. “It is too dangerous to go back.”

“That sword was forged by the realm’s best blacksmith! And who knows what blasphemy Gareth will do to Gwaine!” Arthur’s anger had never bothered Merlin, but the stupidity of it now rose his own anger. He took a deep breath, tempering his emotions as he had in the dungeon. Mortals were no match for his anger, and a bout of it could surely kill the king.

“We both almost died because of your choices,” Merlin said, his voice low and steady. “I saved your life. Again. I will not put it in danger—again. Now, I will find you new clothes and bring you somewhere to wash.” He vanished in an instant that left Arthur blinking and disoriented.

As infuriating as it was to be treated as a child, Arthur could not argue. He was fully prepared to accept death if it was the consequence of his decisions, but to put someone else in that position, especially not a knight who had accepted the same reality, was exactly what Arthur needed to avoid if he wanted to put himself above Gareth and the countless other tyrant kings of old.

He did not know why Merlin continued to save his life or help him at all. Nothing stopped the fairy from flying back to his forest and never returning to Camelot.

Arthur closed his eyes. He had accomplished what he sought to; he found out where his men’s bodies had gone, and confirmed it was Gareth behind everything. It was time to gather his allies and take action against that rogue king.

Merlin popped back into the room, his arms full of trousers and shirts. “Here,” he said, dumping them unceremoniously to the ground. “I knew you would have problems with anything I chose so I grabbed as many as I could carry.” The impatience and abrupt tone of his voice was a stark contrast from the fairy’s usual lackadaisical nature. Arthur stared up at him, and Merlin stared back for several seconds before throwing his hands up. “What? Are _none_ of these to your liking?”

Arthur looked down at the haphazard pile. “No,” he said mildly. “They will work.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you going to leave now?” Arthur asked him. “Return to your forest?”

Merlin furrowed his eyebrows. “No. Why would you think that?”

Arthur shrugged. “You almost died because of me and you don’t seem happy here. Why are you staying?”

Merlin crossed his arms. “I will stay where I need to until all this is resolved. Come with me and I’ll bring you to a stream to drink and clean yourself.” He held out his hands.

Arthur looked at his palms, fighting the reflex to take the offer. How easy he had grown accustomed to the convenience of magic. “Is what Gareth said true?” he asked. “That humans have killed your kind?”

Merlin dropped his hands to his side and regarded Arthur with an incredulous look. “He did not say that.”

“He said something like it. He said our civilization was destroying magic. That eventually it will kill you. So why are you helping me?”

Merlin huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “Remember what I told you? You humans want to know and only know, searching endlessly for the logic behind everything. You do not try to fully comprehend, nor are you able.”

Arthur smirked. “Tell me anyway.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the king. Then he sat cross-legged before him and leaned forward. “Gareth’s words were true,” he said. He watched Arthur’s reaction to it. The man furrowed his eyebrows and regarded Merlin with silent concern. He decided to continue. “And my kind, were they still alive in any number, would likely join forces with him. But the forest created me because of their failure to instill their intentions into my antecedents.”

Arthur’s concern had dropped to utter bafflement. “Are you speaking in riddles on purpose?”

Merlin closed his eyes. “Trees always have, and always will, love humans unconditionally. They give their lives so you can live. They bear fruit, so that you can eat. They offer shade, so that you can rest. They give their wood, so that you have shelter. And they kindle fire, so that you can be warm. Humans used to take care of trees in return, but gradually your kind stopped and turned your attention only to fulfilling your own needs and desires. The trees continue sacrificing themselves for you, and only want to see you flourish. But they needed the role that humans abandoned filled again, and so the Dryads made fairies in human likeness. My kind cared for the forest for generations, their own population growing. They grew bitter and resentful, not only of the humans for failing their part, but towards the trees for still loving humans regardless. They started a war.”

“The legends…” Arthur murmured. “They were true? My mother told me stories of the battles between fairies and humans, but they were only silly tales.” He paused, thinking back to his childhood. “In fact, it is what children are told to warn them of going into the forest alone. A fairy will snatch them up and hang them by their toes over boiling water.”

Merlin’s mouth pressed into a straight line. “They never did anything as ridiculous as that but there are some truths to it. And you are on the right path. It is because of the war that humans began not only neglecting the forest, but fearing it. They began to prefer their stone fortresses over green shadowed paths. And when they could, they tore trees down to replace them with such.

“As the trees died, the fairies’ magics wilted. We are by our very nature a part of the forest, and our magic is woven into the bark of the trees. We cannot stand on our own. Humans were winning the war. But it was the trees who finished it. They could not watch their creation murder those they sought to protect. The Dryads rose together and used their rarely combined strength to call back the fairies’ magics. They stole it from them and rewove it all into me. As I awoke, my forebears weakened and died. I could feel every death from their strands of magic within me. It was my first lesson of the love the trees had for your kind.”

“You’re the only fairy left?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head. “A few survived who resisted the draining of their magic. They are scattered and have not tried to restart a war. Their numbers are too small. I do not know if they all still hold such hatred in their hearts. I have only ever met one other fairy, and she had held onto her anger. I drove her from the forest and do not know what became of her.”

Arthur took a deep breath and held it for a moment, as though he could infuse all this bizarre new information into himself. It was certainly a lot to take in. He was not sure how much he could believe. “Perhaps she terrorizes us still,” Arthur said. “There are the occasional claims from rural areas of fairies and mischief being done to people or livestock.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin agreed. “But mischief does not suit her. She was quite strong, even for me. Her name was Morgana.” Arthur’s eyes widened and Merlin leaned back. “It is familiar?”

“Queen Morgana,” Arthur whispered. “Wife of King Urien. Mother of King Gareth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely lovely readers! I am so sorry there was no chapter last week; I got a new job and have had a bunch of computer problems that were no fun whatsoever. Also I gotta apologize for these last two chapters being very info-dump heavy. I promise we will be back to romance and angst and shenanigans in the next chapter! You just have to humor this silly little writer and her world building obsession every once in a while~ Thank you for all your support and patience!


	10. Merlin and Gwen agree that Arthur is The Worst but also both secretly think he is The Best

Merlin brought Arthur to a stream deep in the middle of the forest. As Arthur washed, Merlin lay on the moss with his hands behind his head and stared up at the canopy. Sun peeked through the leaves and dotted the forest floor in tiny berries of light. It was daytime, still, even after everything that had happened. The two men did not speak, lost in their own thoughts.

Merlin thought about Gareth. If Morgana truly was his mother, that meant he was half-fairy, which explained his unusual skill at magic. But Merlin could sense other fairies—strongly—and he could not imagine that he had been within Gareth’s presence for such a time without discovering that truth, magic barrier or not. But it was ingenious of Morgana to align herself with the humans in order to destroy them, and that seemed like her. He still bore the scar she had given him under his right shoulder; a near death, despite being magically stronger than her. She was a dangerous package of competence and cunning. And now, possibly, she had made a creature the world had never seen before and which Merlin could not predict.

Arthur thought about half a dozen things, and sometimes a dozen more. After what Merlin had told him, it was strange now to be in nothing but forest, surrounded by trees which still to him seemed inanimate and emotionless. But the knowledge made Merlin’s anger at the corrupted Dryad more poignant. He wondered if the Dryad knew of its actions and grieved over the humans it killed. And then Arthur thought of how ridiculous he was, thinking any of this or believing it.

He thought of what to say to his council, and his men, and his allies. He thought of strategies. He thought of Gareth, and of Morgana, whom he knew little about beyond rumors. He thought of war and the battles he had fought, and the battles he _would_ fight. He thought of Gwaine. It was what he least wanted to think about but his mind kept returning to it more than anything else.

When they returned to the castle, Arthur dry and in fresh clothes, the only remnant of their excursion was their inner turmoil.

Arthur dismissed Merlin almost immediately, though with a promise to talk later that night. He needed to gather his men and hold a meeting. Merlin was not as put out at the thought of a listless day as he had been before. He wandered the grounds for an hour or so, memorizing the maze-like halls of the castle. He watched the kitchens work until a sweaty woman shooed him out, apparently unperturbed by his revered guest status that the other servants bowed to. He liked her, so he left to please her.

He found himself in a place he had passed over the other day. A barren field—though calling it a field did poor injustice to real fields, Merlin thought. Next to it was another stone structure. The place had seemed empty and boring when he first saw it, but now there were strained sounds coming from within. He poked his head inside to find Guinevere attacking a fake wooden man with a sword. She wore the trousers and shirt Merlin had so far only seen on human men, and she wielded the sword with as much deft as a knight, not that a man made of wood was a formidable enemy.

Splinters of wood pushed to the side and Gwen’s frazzled state indicated she had been doing this for a while. As Merlin watched, Gwen cleaved the current dummy in two with a grunt more akin to a scream. Then she leaned heavy on the hilt of her sword and glared down at the unfortunate decoy, panting.

She startled at Merlin’s movement into the arena, stepping back as though not wanting him to associate her with the destroyed dummy. “Merlin,” she greeted, still breathless. She tossed her sword onto the sand and wiped away the sweaty strands of hair clinging to her forehead.

“I thought woman of your kind were not allowed to fight,” Merlin said. Most others seemed taken aback when he started conversation without a proper greeting, but Guinevere never seemed to mind. She did laugh at him now, though.

“Woman of my kind?” she repeated.

Merlin scrambled mentally to come up with an excuse for the phrasing. “Of your status,” he amended.

Guinevere shrugged and straightened her chemise. “Before I married Arthur, I was a peasant. Not that woman peasants are allowed to fight, necessarily,” she raised her eyebrows at Merlin, “but there are more leniencies for them. After my mother died in a war skirmish, my father was determined to teach me how to defend myself.”

“How delightful,” Merlin said with a grin. Gwen gave a tired smile in return.

“I am glad you think so. Few others do.”

“Does Arthur?” Apparently, that hit a sore spot. Gwen’s smile fell and she grit her teeth.

“That patronizing scoundrel…” she muttered.

Merlin raised his eyebrows, smiling wider. Up until that point, he had only heard Gwen speak of the king with gentle concern and love. He sat himself down in the sand and waved his hand. “Go on,” he implored.

Gwen blinked at him, surprised, then her grim features brightened and she let out one of her beautiful laughs. She sat down across from him. “I wish others were like you. You treat me like a person, not a queen. Or a child.” She sighed and picked up one of the smaller splinters of wood, drawing absent patterns in the sand with it. “Arthur knows I can fight. He pretends to appreciate my skill and opinion until it comes a time when it actually counts. Then he leaves me out. What burns me up most about it is that as queen, regardless of my combat skill, I should know everything concerning this kingdom. Instead he pats me on the head and shoos me away.” She huffed and threw the wood down. “I have half a mind to challenge him to a duel. That might set him straight. Only it would reflect poorly on both our thrones, and our relationship. We need to be stable for the kingdom, now more than ever.”

Merlin listened to her grievances, finding it difficult not to think about their very adventure mere hours ago. Arthur had disregarded her advice then, despite knowing her insight was true. But, as little as Merlin wanted to defend him, he thought he understood Arthur’s annoying behavior. The man sought out truth and justice. Blindly and rashly, yes, but it was an honorable pursuit, and he seemed well aware of his own impetus. He knew of its dangers, and it was why he kept the ones he loved clear of its raging waters. Merlin was sure telling Guinevere any of this would set her mood sour.

“It is ridiculous,” he agreed with her, since he did agree. “If you are in charge of the kingdom while he is away at war, how can you ready yourself and your people if you do not know what you are readying yourself for?”

“Exactly!” Gwen replied emphatically. She dropped her head in her hand and gave a pitiful sound, a sort of sighing whine, that made Merlin’s heart twinge for her. “How do I make my husband respect me as queen, and not just as a wife?” Merlin had no answer for her, so he just sat in silence. They remained there for several long minutes, Guinevere lost in thought and Merlin lost in Gwen’s features.

A scrawny boy wearing clothes too big for his frame interrupted them. He traipsed into the room and began picking up armfuls of broken wood and carrying them out. Guinevere paid him no mind, so Merlin left her side and stood outside the doorway to watch. The boy was dumping the wood into what he thought humans called a ‘wheelbarrow’. When it was full and the sand was clean of debris, he wheeled it away. Merlin was about to follow when Guinevere’s presence at the doorframe stopped him.

“Thank you for listening,” she told him, her troubles seemingly gone and her face once again serene. Merlin thought it was a mask, like most humans wore. “I have known you only a couple days, yet I feel as though you are an old friend. I hope you will stay in Camelot a while longer.”

Merlin smiled down at her. “I will stay, if only to spend more time with you.” Guinevere blinked at him, a strange look coming to her eye, but she lowered her head before Merlin could translate it.

“Good, I look forward to more conversations,” she said with an air of forced politeness, before she hurried away. Merlin watched her vanish into the castle, fighting the urge to follow. Instead, he set off the way the boy had gone.

 

The path took him into the city. It had been centuries since Merlin last entered a human city. Much had changed; a fair amount stayed the same. It was still crowded, smelly, and noisy. But structures seemed more elaborate, things for sale looked better made, and people exchanged uniform metal pieces for goods instead of the trade of items that Merlin remembered. He was greatly intrigued by this latter material, but his attempts to see them up close were met with astonishment and outrage.

He abandoned those efforts and wandered the streets for hours. At the onset of darkness, huge torches were set around the streets, and most of the population vanished into buildings. He took the opportunity of a dark, empty corridor to fly back to his bed chambers.

Candles were already lit in his room, and the platter on one of the tables had been replenished with fruit. He plucked a strawberry and popped it into his mouth whole. It was sweeter than the tart wild berries he was used to, but it wasn’t unpalatable.

He opened the door but didn’t get a foot into the hallway before a man apprehended him. “Sir, the king is waiting for you. I knocked and knocked but you did not answer, and the king forbade me to enter.”

Merlin eyed the man, who had clearly been waiting in the hall for this very moment. Possibly for hours. He could not imagine how humans gave themselves over to ridiculous tasks so easily for another person, king or not. “How perfect, as I am headed his way,” Merlin told the man, skirting around him and starting down the hall. “Did you happen to know where he can be found?” he asked over his shoulder as the servant followed.

“No, sir, not at this current hour.” From his tone of voice, the man had in fact been waiting for a long period.

Merlin waved him off. “Then you are of no use to me. Go occupy yourself with something else.” The servant wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily, but after promising to tell Arthur that the man had found him and had a hand in sending Merlin to the king, the servant left him alone. Merlin found Arthur in a horrible little room with no windows and only three candles to light the space.

When they had parted ways earlier, Arthur had looked confident and determined. But the man who stood to greet Merlin looked exhausted and disheveled and at the ends of his wits. It did not prevent the sharp cut of anger in his words. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I _told_ you I wanted to talk tonight, and I have sent servants all over this damn castle searching for you.”

“I went into the streets,” Merlin replied easily, falling into a chair. He couldn’t shake off his own fatigue, after such a day.

“Into Camelot? I would not think you’d like city streets.”

“I didn’t like them. But they were interesting enough, and at least I could see the sky. I’m sick of walls. And I wanted to see this ‘kingdom’ you and Gwen cherish so.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t call her that. She is Queen Guinevere to you. And the kingdom is far more than the city of Camelot.” Merlin shrugged and Arthur closed his eyes, leaning heavy onto the worn table beside him.

“I’ve spoken with who I could today. Thankfully your… artistry this morning has been lost in all this chaos. My men and I must completely replot the strategies for this war. It is difficult, when I cannot imagine Gareth’s abilities. When I cannot imagine what lay in store…” Arthur sat in the chair across from Merlin and leaned on his knees, meeting his eye. Merlin did not like the earnest look he had, rather uncharacteristic of the king. “Teach me. About magic, about Dryads, about Morgana… whatever you can.”

Merlin blinked down at him for a second before he glanced around the cramped room, mostly as an excuse not to keep looking into those blue eyes. He rolled his shoulders as though he could stretch out the unease he felt. “Very well,” he acquiesced. “I will teach you. But I will teach you _my_ way, and if you give one order I will cease immediately.”

Arthur smirked, combing his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. Instead of straightening it, it only made his locks stick out every which way. “I will do my best,” he promised.


	11. Nightmares and fairies and tales-- oh my!

xi.

“Please—no—don’t!” screamed Gwaine. He raised his arm against Arthur’s assault, fear caught in the whites of his eyes. Arthur tried to hold back his strike, but could not prevent his sword from slicing through Gwaine’s neck. His friend’s terrified eyes still begged him for mercy as his head fell into a pool of its own blood.

Arthur opened his eyes to the pitch-black room, his breath harsh in his own ears. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back and trickled through his hair. He stood up, ripping the linen shirt off and throwing it to the floor before stumbling to the only light in the room, faded moonlight through a window. He looked down at the stretch of grass and foliage between the castle and the ground gates. His heart still thundered in his ears and he struggled to catch his breath as his eyes wandered the grey-blue wash of the world outside.

A pressure on his arm startled him. He whipped around, stopping when he realized it was only Gwen. She was a mere silhouette in the darkness and had not even stepped back at his frenzied movement. He took her hand off his arm.

“What is the matter?” she asked. Her voice was soft and sweet and concerned, nothing at all what Arthur deserved. He released her hand only for her to take his again, pressing his knuckles to her lips.

His heart panged and he pulled her closer, kissing her soft lips too roughly, holding her waist too tightly. She did not mind, leaning into his torso and returning his affection until he tore away from her.

He put three paces between them and leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool stone.

“Arthur,” Gwen admonished. “What is wrong?”

“It does not concern you,” he started to say, but before he could get the last word out she gave a disbelieving scoff.

“It _does_ concern me! It almost certainly concerns me! And especially so if it is preventing you from sleeping!” She moved towards him and he stepped away. The moonlight kissed the side of her face through the window, hazy and gentle, but Gwen’s face was set to anger. She crossed her arms. “Stubborn fool! What has gotten into you? You’re always impossible, but since you came back from—”

“From seeing my men murdered before me?” Arthur finished for her. She pressed her lips together.

“You’ve been to war, been through battles. You’ve seen men die before. It didn’t make you like this.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not the one who killed them!” Arthur bellowed. “Not my own men, not so many, without even a chance to fight back. I’m the reason they were turned into monsters.”

That made Gwen’s anger drop. “What?” Arthur paused at Gwen’s confusion, realizing he had not told her. He sighed and rubbed at his temples.

“Merlin speculated the reason the bodies were gone was because of necromancy. The trackers’ observations confirmed it.” He did not like to lie, but it was what he told his council, and it was the closest he could get to the truth without jeopardizing Merlin’s secret.

“Necromancy?” Gwen scoffed again. “That is impossible.”

“It is not!” Arthur said, his voice sharper and louder than he intended. Guinevere fell silent and looked at him. In the half darkness and half hazy light, her face wavered into the shape of Gwaine’s. He drew in a sharp breath and turned away from her, his heart pounding anew. Guinevere stepped up to him again.

“Arthur,” she whispered. “It is not your fault.” She took his hand and tugged on it. Instead of following her beckoning he only turned around again. She was back in darkness, back to her own outline. He pressed his palm to her face, running a shaky thumb across her lips. “Come back to bed,” she implored.

Arthur did not want to sleep, the memory of the dream still haunting the edges of his mind. He ran a hand down her side, her warmth palpable through her linen nightgown. He drew in a shaky breath and pulled her into another kiss. “I am sorry I yelled,” he whispered.

Guinevere smiled. “Your anger never frightened me, you know that.”

Arthur gave a soft laugh, leaning his forehead against hers. “I do. It’s part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

“Oh? And what were the other reasons?” Guinevere asked with such false innocence Arthur had to stop himself from laughing again.

“Hmm,” he feigned thought as he stepped backwards, pulling her along. “Your laugh,” he said, coming up to the writing desk. “Your wit,” he decided for the second item. He sat down in the chair and Guinevere straddled his lap.

“And?” she incited, draping her arms over his shoulders.

He looked up at her form in the darkness, her curly hair drawn back in a loose braid and her features barely perceptible. He did not need to see them to know how lovely she looked, even after waking in the middle of the night. The truth was, there was nothing about her he _hadn’t_ fallen in love with. “And that defiant look you get whenever I say something you don’t like,” he finished.

Guinevere’s breath brushed his lips. “Which is almost everything you say,” she teased.

“Is it?” Arthur replied, his hands trailing down her shoulders and loosening the lace tied behind her neck. “Do you have that look now?”

Gwen pressed her lips hard to his. “No,” she laughed. “I believe I have a much different look at this moment.”

Arthur was agreeable to that.

 

Despite their efforts, Arthur could not shake the remnants of his dream. He lay awake the rest of the night, listening to Gwen’s soft breathing. The second the room turned from black to slight grey, he was up and changed and out the door. His throne room had been cleaned of all the flora Merlin had put there, but as Arthur stood staring at the dais it seemed now to be missing something. He dismissed the thought, annoyed at the sentimentality unbecoming of a king.

He walked to Merlin’s guest room, but it was empty. He went instead to the courtyard. A groundskeeper was there cleaning the ornamental pond in the center of the yard. Merlin watched the process from a stone bench, crouched on it in his heathenish manner. Merlin looked at Arthur as soon as he entered, as though the fairy had been expecting him. When he did not move, Arthur sighed and went to him instead. “What are you doing out here?”

Merlin smiled at him with a hint of disappointment, as though he should have known already. “This is the only location in your castle that does not suffocate the life out of its dwellers.” Merlin was right, Arthur should have guessed that response.

“I have free time this morning,” Arthur said, a subtle suggestion.

“You want to start your lessons?” Merlin asked, clapping his hands together. The groundskeeper looked over and Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. It was exactly what he wanted to avoid. If word got out that a lowly traveler was teaching the king, he did not know the rumors or feelings that would spread.

“It is more a conversation,” Arthur said, matching Merlin’s volume, before grabbing the fairy’s wrist and dragging him off the bench and back into the castle.

He stopped outside the library, ignoring Merlin’s inquiries. Once the archiver had unlocked the door, Merlin took one step inside and turned to Arthur accusingly.

“And this is the exact opposite of where we need to be!”

The library was cramped and dark, the shelves lining the wall illuminated only by the candle the archiver held. The smell of parchment and glue rolled out of the room like a stale wind.

“Don’t fret,” Arthur said, stepping in. He gestured, and the archiver rested the candlestick on the center table and left. Arthur stepped up to the shelf on the far wall, brushing his fingers over the book spines. He knew exactly the one he needed, its leather cracked and worn far more than the others. He pulled it out and rested it on the table.

“Come here.” Merlin did not budge. He looked up, ready to reprimand him, when the expectant look on Merlin’s face reminded him. He sighed. “Look at this with me, if you will.”

“Your first lesson ought to be on saying ‘please,’” Merlin muttered, but he stepped closer.

Arthur opened the book to the first illustration. It was beautiful and intricate, a scene of nine fairies dancing in a forest clearing. On the opposite page, the tale began. He did not need to read it to know the story. He may not have remembered it exactly as it was written, but these words were all he had left of his mother. Even just seeing the illustration again brought the sound of her voice to his ears, reading over his shoulder as he snuggled in her lap. Merlin’s voice broke through hers.

“What is this?”                                                                                                  

“Fairy tales,” Arthur answered, shaking away the nostalgia. “Many are about the struggle between fairies and humans.” He flipped through the pages carefully until he came to the illustration he remembered. The description below it read, _Morgana le Faye._ A beautiful dark-haired woman with a strong jaw and piercing green eyes. “I knew I recognized the name from somewhere else. Is this her, as you remember?”

Merlin pushed Arthur aside to see, looking troubled. “It is accurate. How…?”

“I do not know where it came from or who made it.”

Merlin flipped through the next couple of pages, brow furrowed. “I would like to read this. Can I bring it to my room?”

“No,” Arthur said, perhaps too quickly. Merlin straightened and looked at him. He cleared his throat. “It is safer here. If you want to read it, you will have to come here.”

Merlin looked around the room, his lip curling. “But it’s _disgusting_ here.”

Arthur shrugged, closing the book and nearly catching Merlin’s fingers in the pages. “If you change your mind, I will tell the archiver to give you access.” He returned the book to the shelf and nodded to the door. Merlin held a scowl on him for another moment before acquiescing and walking out. The archiver closed and locked the door behind them and gave a bow to the king, who was already moving off down the hall.

“What does that book say about Morgana?” Merlin asked as he followed Arthur.

“Nothing much. It only mentions her as giving advice to another fairy.” The king stepped into his study, a small room but far less cramped and with a large open window overlooking the north gardens. Below the window was a writing desk, and a chest beside the chair with papers and quills.

“This is where I took my scholarship as a boy,” Arthur explained.

Merlin glanced around, then resigned himself with a sigh and sat on the floor. “Not ideal, but it will work for the first lesson.”

Arthur pulled out the chair and sat facing Merlin, elbows on his knees. “I’m listening.”

Merlin paused, a strange expression coming over his features as he looked up at Arthur. Before Arthur could ask, the fairy had leapt to his feet and paced the small room.

“First, the cycle of elements…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed another week, such is life~ Thanks for sticking with me. The truth is I didn't like this chapter but couldn't figure out how to fix it. It's kind of boring I guess. In apology, I offer you this video: https://youtu.be/kbRh9nVVfhA
> 
> I have no idea if that is allowed so if you never hear from me again, the AO3 gods have smote me.


	12. Did someone order angst with a side of comfort?

xii.

“So blood magic _isn’t_ from the element of death.”

“Correct.”

“It’s from the element of life.”

“Correct.”

“And the element of death is stronger than life?”

Merlin rolled his eyes at the same time as he rolled to his feet. Having never taught before, he was coming to find that he hated it. “ _No_. How many times have I told you? No element is stronger than another. Just different.”

“But you _said_ all life leads to death.”

“Yes, but death feeds life in turn. Everything has its place. We went over this yesterday.”

Arthur stood off the forest floor where they’d been having their lessons the past three days, chucking a twig into the underbrush. Having never been taught by a bad teacher before, he was coming to find that he wanted to strangle him. “How do you expect me to remember anything when all of this is complete nonsense?!” He threw his hands up and stalked across the small clearing, not nearly big enough to put any distance between him and the fairy.

Merlin crossed his arms and leaned back against a tree as he eyed Arthur. “Maybe you would remember better if you actually got some sleep.”

Arthur scowled and turned away. “And now you’re a physician?”

“You look half dead, Arthur.”

“Good. I do not have time to be alive. The first envoy will reach Camelot this afternoon.” Arthur closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Once closed, his eyes begged to remain that way but he forced them open and turned back around. “I’m not going to be prepared enough to fight a war against magic. And my men certainly won’t be any better. Come with us.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, as surprised at the invitation as he was at Arthur’s sincerity in giving it. But being in some mortals’ quarrel, with the noise and violence and blood, made him sick just to think about. “No,” he said. He held out his hands to the king. “You’re too tired to learn this morning. Let’s go back and you should try to sleep before Lord Whomever arrives.”

Arthur’s eyebrows sunk lower. He was going to have to introduce Merlin to his vassals at some point, and he was not looking forward to it. “Lord William. And I won’t sleep. But fine, let’s return.” He took Merlin’s hands and the next moment they were standing in the study.

“You will,” Merlin said sternly. “Or I’ll call Guinevere to make you. She’s been worried about you, too.”

“You’re worried about me?” Arthur quipped, with such self-satisfaction that whatever real concern Merlin felt was overshadowed by annoyance.

“Only that it won’t be fun to antagonize you anymore,” he retorted. He gestured out of the room and looked to Arthur expectantly. Normally Arthur would resent being ordered by anyone but his wife, but he was so tired that he could not deny laying down in his bed sounded like bliss.

Merlin followed him all the way to his room, and Arthur shut the door in his face.

The second he was in his bed with his eyes closed, the image of Gwaine’s slackened face forced his eyes open. He turned onto his back with a heavy sigh and stared up at the dark wooden canopy.

“Gwaine,” he murmured. He gripped the sheet beneath his hands, clenching his jaw against tears. “Forgive me. Please. My good friend, forgive me.”

 

Lord William arrived on an elegant chestnut horse, surrounded by one hundred soldiers. Arthur stood beside Gwen on the castle steps to greet them. It was a palpable relief among visitors and greeters alike that they made it safely.

“All hail the king!” Lord William shouted, and his knights repeated it in a wave of voices that crashed across the grounds.

Arthur descended the steps as William dismounted and knelt. His knights followed suit.

Close enough to talk at a normal volume, Arthur beckoned William to stand. “We are all glad to see you, Lord William,” Arthur said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. William bowed his head. An older man, who had been closer to Arthur’s father than to him, William did not look impressive to strangers. But Arthur knew his wit remained sharp as a sword, and his wisdom, along with his experience, was invaluable. Still, the years and war had not been kind to the man. His face wrinkled in new places, and his once-greying hair was now just grey. “I trust your journey was unencumbered?”

“It was, Your Majesty. We give our undying gratitude for your protection of our lands and fortunes.”

Arthur smiled and gestured to the castle squires. “Have your men relieved of their armor. The rest of the lords are set to arrive tomorrow, and King Nicholas arrives the day after. Then we shall talk of this dreadful war. In the meantime, let us feast.”

The banquet hall was filled to the brim, and many of the knights were forced to spill out to the gardens. Musicians played inside and out, a cacophony of sound intermingled with the voices and laughter and shouts of the knights.

Being the king, Arthur was seated in the main hall. He sat at one end of the long table opposite William, their councils and highest knights between them. The entire night passed in a haze, Arthur giving polite but succinct answers to anyone who spoke to him and picking at the food that was placed before him with no appetite for it. Guinevere was up doing what she did best, charming the men and being a much better host than him. It was Gwen who finally whisked him away, making many polite mitigations on his behalf.

The dim light and quieter noises of the corridors felt both like a salve and an oppressive weight on Arthur.

“My dear,” Gwen pressed gently, walking arm-in-arm with him. He shook the fog from his head and looked down at her. “You cannot go on this way. Take tonight and tomorrow morning to rest as full as you can before the smaller vassals arrive. I will tend to Lord William and his knights.”

He was too tired to argue. He let Gwen lead him to their room, and once there she helped remove all the formal outer layers of his garb until he was only in linen undergarments.

“I will tell Havor not to disturb you tomorrow morning.” Guinevere kissed him and left.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. His bed chambers were on the opposite side of the castle as the festivities, but he could still hear muffled noises of music and excitement. He lay down, convinced that he was finally exhausted enough to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.

Not so. He awoke in a cold sweat, Gwaine’s screams still ringing in his ears. He grabbed his trousers from where Gwen had laid them on a chair and yanked them on as he stormed out of the room.

He had told Merlin to stay away from the feast that night, to which the fairy had responded that he would have never gone in his thousand years of life. Arthur did not know if that was true; if he had truly stayed away or, even if he had, whether he would be in his room or flown off somewhere into the forest. He didn’t care. He barged in and, seeing Merlin, fell heavily into the chair by his fast-breaking table.

Merlin turned from the window, nothing interesting there anyway without view of the festivities, and looked at the disheveled king. When Arthur simply sat with his head in his hands and said nothing, Merlin strayed closer.

“Greetings to you, too,” he offered.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned.

The genuine anguish in his voice gave Merlin pause. He swallowed all the teasing remarks he had on his tongue. “Yes?”

“There must be a magic to make someone sleep, no? Or at least unconscious, surely.”

Merlin bit his lower lip, trying to pinpoint the awful feeling weighing in his chest. Uneasiness? Annoyance? No… he could see it as only pity, an emotion he had never had towards a human. “There is not, Arthur. Why not just lay down and sleep?”

“Because I can’t!” he bellowed, looking up. The dark bruises under his eyes only accentuated the anger in them. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I cannot close my eyes without seeing his face, without seeing that ungodly act I took upon him! And the worst part is, I cannot tell! Not even Guinevere can know where we were, the things we went through.” He dropped his head back in his hands, too weak to hold his head up on its own. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears of grief and anger. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, Merlin. Let me sleep.”

Merlin stepped forward, reaching his hands out. He hesitated, palms hovering above Arthur’s head, before he buried his fingers in the king’s hair.

His locks were softer than Merlin thought they would be. He brushed one hand back, grazing his fingers through the gold shimmering in the candlelight. Arthur quieted under his touch, though he trembled, whether from emotion or exhaustion or something else, Merlin could not determine.

“Magic that touches the mind can make the caster go mad,” Merlin said softly. “Even a fairy. I am sorry for what you had to do, but make no mistake, Arthur—you had to do it. You were not harming your friend, you were saving him. And I was there. So… if you need, you can relieve your burdens to me, and I will gladly take them.” Arthur stood up, forcing Merlin to step back. He stood aside, fully expecting Arthur to march out of the room. Instead, he sat on the bed.

Merlin continued to stand until Arthur gestured, without looking up. The fairy held back a reluctant sigh and sat on the uncomfortable straw-filled mattress. Then, Arthur surprised Merlin even further. He opened up.

He talked about meeting Gwaine, about their adventures together in and out of battle, about Gwaine being there for him in the wake of his father’s death. He did not say it, but Merlin could hear clear as day that Arthur had loved him. So he stayed quiet, and listened intently, and thought he understood—truly understood, not just knew—the love Dryads held for humanity.

When the candles were burned nearly to their wicks, and the room flickered between dimming flame and darkness, Arthur was asleep against the feather pillows. Merlin lay in silence beside him, watching the way the shadows transformed his face. A grotesque monster one moment, and a handsome solemn man the next. He reached out and brushed his fingers, ever so gently, over his hair.

“Good night, King Arthur,” he murmured. He turned around, tucking his hands under his head, and closed his eyes.


	13. Merlin is actually considerate for once

xiii.

Arthur awoke and bolted upright, looking around in an attempt to place his location. He remembered, belatedly, the previous night. He closed his eyes and drooped back against the pillows, pressing a hand to his eyes. Merlin was no where in the room. Maybe he had frightened him off with his emotions. That would be ideal, given that Arthur did not want to admit to himself that he had opened up to Merlin like that. He barely did so with his own wife.

Crap. Gwen. And Lord William. And the other lords that were set to arrive today. He leapt from the bed and rushed to the window, looking out at the sky. It was well past dawn, when he usually woke. He ran out of the room.

Servants scurried out of his way with scared bows as he sprinted past them to his own bed chamber. That was empty as well. He yanked on clothes that had been laid out for him and left to go where he was most likely needed, the throne room.

Sure enough, Guinevere was there, speaking with not only Lord William but Lord Heath and Lord Green as well. They must have arrived that morning.

“Ah!” Gwen said, catching his eye as he approached. “Here is The Majesty. You may relay your concerns to him yourself.” She bowed from the conversation. Arthur turned to the others, raising his eyebrows.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Heath and Green gave deep bows.

“What were your concerns?” he asked. They exchanged a telling glance. They worried it would offend him. He did not care for such fears. “Tell me straight and true, sirs, or do not tell me at all,” he said. The chastising seemed to work.

“Your Majesty, we understand the need for this war, how our very livelihoods depend on it. But it has been a cool summer, and the harvest does not look in our favor. Our farmers are struggling to pay their taxes as is. Raising an army has already proven difficult for me and Lord Heath. Funding it will be an even greater challenge.”

Arthur rubbed his chin. He knew of his outer territories’ difficulties, but he had heard of no real problems in collecting taxes. When things were truly grim, the people protested, usually violently. The absence of such was no reason not to try and prevent such extremes. If his people started a rebellion in the midst of a war, it would prove catastrophic.

“I see your troubles,” Arthur said. “We will discuss them in the strategy meeting before King Nicholas arrives. Does that suit you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, of course.” The two barons bowed again. They did not seem eager to continue the conversation.

Arthur looked to William. “How are your farmers doing?”

“They are quite alright, My King,” he replied stiffly, side-eying the others. Arthur knew him well enough to know he thought it a pitiful excuse and a terrible entreaty to the king. He was the kind of lord who dealt with such problems on his own.

“All the same,” Arthur said, a reassurance to the other two that their problem would be addressed. He left them be to mingle with the council members who were about, before taking his place beside Guinevere on the throne—free of grass and vines—to begin a court session.

It was typical daily news and grievances. The state of the treasury, the armory, the prisons. Difficulties with product regulation and stifled economy with trade slowing due to the fears of magic and war. Arthur paid only as much attention as he was required. Much of his thoughts were on Merlin. As soon as the meeting was adjourned, Arthur made sure Gwen was okay before he left, dismissing any attempts to speak to him with a short wave.

He asked around the palace. No one had seen Merlin since the previous day. That was not particularly unusual, given his abilities, but Arthur was beset with a strange sort of panic regardless. After everything he had told Merlin, was he off to blackmail him, or use his emotions against him? Arthur suppressed the deeper, less sensical concern. Had Merlin gone somewhere and gotten in trouble? He was a fairy, he could get himself out of trouble with a thought. Nonetheless, Arthur could not shake the image of Merlin dead in the forest by a terrible magic hand.

He sent men to check the city streets. He wished to go himself, but even to his own mind it was not a good excuse to abandon his duties at the castle. He had a war to prepare for.

The next meeting was in the more formal council hall, but it was far from a formal affair. Men stood, banged the table, yelled across it at each other and over each other. Multiple times Arthur had to stand and silence the room. Some thought because of Gareth’s dishonorable tactics, they needed to employ the same strategies. Others thought that worse than death. Still others wanted to attempt envoys of peace and end the war before it began, even at a loss. They were convinced a war of magic was certain death for every single soldier and knight in their armies.

None of it was resolved. Halfway through the meeting, a messenger burst into the hall, quieting another bout of heated argument as they all turned to look at him.

“Your Majesty,” he panted, falling to a knee almost in relief at the chance to rest. “Merlin has found Gwaine’s body.”

Arthur’s chair scraped back against the stone floor as he stood. “What?” he hissed.

“He is at the city gates, Your Majesty. He requests your presence, if you deem it fit.”

“We will continue later tonight,” Arthur said to the table, not bothering with proper closings. He was out the door before the men could say anything else.

 

Merlin had been sequestered into the holding cell inside the city gates, which he clearly was not taking kindly to. He refused to remain seated on the wooden bench and paced the floor. He turned on Arthur when he arrived.

“Finally!” he huffed. “What took you so long?” The audible gasp of the attending guard was the only thing that made Merlin add a gruff, “Your Majesty.”

“Gwaine?” Arthur demanded, not deigning Merlin’s own rude demands with a response. He could not even form a full sentence. He knew where Gwaine had been, so he could not ask where Merlin had found him. He wanted to ask _how_ he had found him, and _why_. After insisting he would not return to that castle, here he was with proof of such an excursion.

“My King,” the guard said, dipping his head low and gesturing to a side door. Arthur strode through it. Gwaine had been laid respectfully onto a table and covered with white linen. Arthur lifted one end to see his friend, well and truly dead, with his head put carefully in place above his severed neck.

He dropped the cloth immediately, trying to control his quickened breath and pounding heart.

“I decided to investigate the forest further,” Merlin said from the doorway. “I found him as such and thought it pertinent to return him for proper burial.”

Arthur’s hands trembled, with anger or sorrow or gratitude he did not know.

“Did you come across any dangers on such a voyage?” Arthur asked delicately.

“No, sir,” Merlin replied emphatically. “I came across no persons whatsoever.”

Arthur turned his shoulder to look at the fairy. Merlin tilted his head down in a subtle nod. He drew in a shaky breath.

“Guard!” Arthur yelled. He popped into the doorway behind Merlin. “Take care and bring his body to the church to prepare it for proper rites and burial. Have four men help you.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The guard dipped his head again and left.

Arthur stepped closer to Merlin. “Thank you,” he said, breathless from more than just his run through the city. Merlin grinned in his usual cavalier way and for once it wasn’t infuriating.

“Think nothing of it, _Your Majesty_.” He bowed dramatically. Arthur pulled him up into a hug, where Merlin stiffened. He stood like a board, straight and unsure.

“No, Merlin, _truly_. Thank you.” He released him, since the fairy seemed so unfit to be hugged, and gripped his arms instead. “I shall owe you a favor if you ever wish to take it.”

“I am sure I can think of a use,” Merlin replied coyly.

“We will talk again soon,” Arthur reassured him. “For now, I have… several things I need to do.”

“Yes, yes.” Merlin flapped his hand at the king. “Go solve the world’s problems, or whatever it is your job entails.”

Arthur shook his head, still not able to find true annoyance with the fairy, before skirting around him to find the guards and help oversee Gwaine’s relocation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo it's been... over two months. For anyone who was waiting for an update, I am terribly sorry. This chapter is short and a bit rushed, but I did not want to keep holding onto it and give you nothing at all. I have not abandoned this story, I am simply... -drum roll- writing a novel! that I hope to publish, so my writing time and efforts have been put to that end and it has left little motivation to write more of this fic, as much as I love these spicy boys. 
> 
> If you are at all inclined or a fan of my writing, I have started an author's blog (https://kc-llewen.tumblr.com) that you can follow. It is pretty new and I don't update super often at the moment, but as I finish my novel's first draft I'll likely be posting more there with updates about that as well as little story blurbs and such.
> 
> I cannot promise another update soon. Though I do not _want_ to be absent for quite so long this time, who knows. I do have plans for the fic and know where it is heading so I hope you will enjoy the plot and characters regardless of the time between updates. At least I have not been leaving you with any heart-wrenching cliffhangers. Let me know what you think of this new chapter in the comments and maybe I'll see you on Tumblr! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this obnoxiously long note as well as in this story. Cheers~


	14. Merlin's whimsical adventures (What does he even do? Now you know.)

xiv.

Merlin did not see Arthur for another two days, but the castle increased tenfold in activity. More knights and infantry and what Merlin supposed were the high-ranking men who led them. He noted that none of them were women, a realization that brought his conversation with Gwen to mind. He could not talk with her, either. Guinevere, like Arthur, had her attention stolen entirely by her duties.

Merlin grew bored of it all. His initial interest in watching the knights train and the servants bustle around like squirrels in autumn faded when none of it seemed to lead to anything. He wasn’t allowed in on the council meetings with Arthur, Guinevere shooed him away whenever he approached, and everyone else gave him a wide, uneasy berth. He returned to the wood.

He needed to return regardless. He had been neglecting his duties. He walked his usual path, deep in the woods where no mortal had ever traversed and leaves thickened the morning sky. His every step on the damp earth brought moss seeping from the ground, every touch on rock sprung lichen to its surface.

The forest was still: safe, but tense. The trees knew of the oncoming war. Only a few needed to witness for the rest to know, though they had all felt the corruption of one of their own.

Merlin laid his hand to the bark of a tree, reading the ancient language etched there in the rough swirls. The magic imbued in the forest, the very life of the trees, was taut. They feared. Not for themselves.

Merlin eased the tension as he walked on. He left flowers and life and warmth in his wake, healed rotting fruit and revived withered plants. The trees did not care. He could not dismiss their insistence.

“I will,” he spoke out loud, though he nor the Dryads needed verbal language. He had grown used to it with Arthur. Unlike human words, his reassurance was a guarantee of his intent.

He could not stop a war, but he could hasten its end. At the very least, he would try. They understood that.

He returned to the castle, and his first view was of dawn leaking through his window. He had been gone for almost a full day. Without the reminders of humans’ concept of time, he had lost track of it. His second view was of the king on his bed, slumped against the pillows where he had fallen asleep sitting up. Waiting up.

The sun had not yet crept over the horizon, and the colors in the room were washed in the hazy grey of twilight. Arthur looked… common. His golden hair was simply yellow, the resplendent crimson of his shirt a muted burgundy. All of Arthur’s foolish pride and sense of authority was lost to sleep. When he slept, he was not a king; just a man, no more or less than the people he ruled over. Of course, Merlin knew that truth regardless of the time of day. Arthur did not.

Merlin leaned over him, so close he could hear the gentle breath that raised his chest. He resisted the urge to play his fingers through that yellow hair, still soft and inviting despite the grey light.

“Were you waiting for me?” he spoke sweetly, but loud, and Arthur jerked awake hard enough to topple himself backwards. He shoved himself to his feet, forcing Merlin to take a step back or risk collision.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his humanity covered once more by regal veneer.

“You are not the only one with obligations, _Your Majesty_.” Merlin emphasized the title too much for it to be taken as respect. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“I postponed a _war_ for you,” he growled. Merlin startled, the context of his promise to the Dryads bringing force to such words. But Arthur did not share that meaning. “Come,” the king said, and walked out of the room.

Merlin trailed after him, mind racing. Was Arthur going to force him to march to battle? Help the king slaughter his own kind? Did he hear some new activity that warranted Merlin’s counsel on magic or Morgana?

Arthur led him to the central hall, and then beyond, past the imposing stone archway onto the manicured green that surrounded the castle. The field’s unnatural perfection was blemished, near the stone wall that circled the castle grounds. A wide dark splotch cleared into individual thin silhouettes as they approached. Merlin recognized them from the magic thrumming the air more than from sight. Saplings.

He ran the rest of the distance. The trees, shoulder-height and scrawny, were planted tenderly into the grass. They stood too uniform to look natural, but the care in their handling beamed off them like light.

Merlin wandered into the space between them, both hands trailing across the shivering branches. Arthur, not breaking his walk, caught up.

“Sixty,” Merlin said. He glanced back at the king. The man’s surprise faded to an impressed frown.

“That’s correct. A tree for Gwaine, and then for every man whose body we have yet to bring back.”

_Yet_. The stubbornness of that word was so human. Merlin stroked his hand across a branch and the translucent green buds clinging to it darkened as they grew a thumb-width larger.

“Do you like it?” Arthur was too refined to let the hope show in his voice, but Merlin knew it was there. He did not think his chest could grow tighter but it did, painfully so. When he didn’t respond, Arthur continued. “During the day, this grove shall be open to any man, woman, or child who wishes to enjoy the shade and beauty of the trees. They will be well taken care of, and never harmed. Would you like to name it? The grove?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, before Arthur had finished speaking.

Silence wafted between them for another half minute as Merlin continued admiring the trees.

“Is every tree a Dryad?” Arthur spoke up. The question made Merlin stop moving as he pondered how to answer.

“Yes… and no. A Dryad is… a _part_ of the forest’s magic. The tree’s lives. It could be several trees’ lives, or only one. Or just a fraction of one’s, if the tree is old and strong enough.” Merlin shrugged, not satisfied with the answer but knowing further attempts to explain would end in frustration for him and confusion for Arthur. Still, he was surprised when Arthur did not inquire further.

Instead the king asked, in the closest Merlin had ever heard him come to tentative; “Are… are they happy here?”

The tightness in his chest swelled and burst into an uncontrollable grin. He spun on his heel to face Arthur. “They’re elated! Did you do this because of me?”

Arthur glanced to the side, reluctance dragging his face down. “I suppose you had a small influence in the decision,” he acquiesced. Merlin did not bother biting back his happiness. He often had trouble understanding human’s social language: the embracing, kissing, touching; it did not make sense to him, whether it should be done or not and why, but this was language he could comprehend. There was no better way Arthur could have shown his gratitude.

“I bless this grove,” Merlin said, drawing Arthur’s eyes back to him. “I bless it with the strength of the forest. May these trees grow tall, to watch over you and protect you from harm.”

“Merlin, if you make these grow full overnight it will surely not be overlooked by the council, or the citizens of this city,” Arthur cautioned. Merlin waved away his concern.

“They will grow at a normal pace. But they will grow vibrant and luscious and awe all who lay eyes on them.”

Arthur took a moment to think of a proper response. He decided on a stilted, “Thank you.” He gestured back to the castle. “I have to review the supply inventory. You may stay here as long as you like. Please refrain from magic.”

Merlin did stay there, since he knew he was not wanted in the castle. And he did quite a lot of magic.

He made the young leaves lush and verdant, he strengthened the branches, he fortified the soil and drew up colorful little flowers throughout the grass. Busying himself so, the day passed by far more pleasantly than the rest of his time at the castle.

When Arthur returned hours later, Guinevere came alongside him. Merlin was so delighted to see her that he bounded up to her and, taking her hands, pulled her around in dizzying, exuberant circles. Her initial surprise faded to laughter as she spun with him, brown curls dancing and bouncing in the warm light of sunset. When she tore away from Merlin she stumbled, still laughing. Arthur caught her before she fell, holding her weight as she giggled helplessly under the kisses he dropped across her face.

“Have you seen it?” Merlin asked, spreading his arm to the trees. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Gwen said, breathless and too dizzy to look where he gestured. “Arthur seems quite fond of surprises these days.” She smiled up at him. He responded by kissing her smile.

“Have you thought of a name?” Arthur asked the fairy.

“I’ve thought of some.” Merlin drew the magic of the trees around him like a cloak, snuggling in its vibrant warmth. “A name is a powerful thing, not something to be given lightly. I’ll need time to make the decision.”

Arthur sighed, and the fall of his happiness was palpable. Even Guinevere sobered. “Well, when you have a satisfactory one, let Gwen know.”

“What?” Merlin perked up, dissipating the magic wrapped around himself and moving closer to the pair. “Not you?”

“I am leaving in the morning, Merlin,” Arthur said, the touch of his voice suggesting Merlin should have known. “I am going to war.”

“ _You_ are?” Merlin asked, startled. “I thought all those lords and fancy people were going.”

“Yes… and I with them. What kind of king would I be if I didn’t lead my people to battle?”

“A living one,” Merlin replied. Arthur’s eyebrows dropped. Guinevere put a hand on his chest, looking up at him in earnest.

“I am concerned, too, Merlin,” she said, though she didn’t take her eyes off her husband’s face. “But he’s been through battle before. He’s a good knight.” Merlin could hear, plain as the fading day, that the statement offered no comfort to Guinevere.

He had a promise to uphold, though he did not know how to go about stopping what was already begun. But he was far more selfish than the trees. He did not care if the other humans died. Only if Arthur did.

The saplings behind him knew his intent, and he felt their disappointment. If protecting Arthur meant hurting another human, he would not hesitate. _Hurt,_ he told the trees. _Not kill._ It made no difference to them.

“I’ll go with you,” Merlin said. Arthur blinked. “You wanted my help, no?”

“Yes… thank you.” Arthur looked down at Guinevere’s confusion. “But…” Merlin tensed. “I would rather you stay here for now. Your… knowledge may be useful in protecting the city and farmlands. If I need you, I will send for you.” He met Merlin’s eyes, his own hard and concentrated. “Understand?”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, then softened. Arthur could not speak freely in front of Guinevere, and humans were fond of hidden meanings. He nodded. “I understand.” At the very least, it would do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks for your patience with my lack of updates! I've been busy writing a book and taking more work shifts to make up for the off-season at my job when my hours dwindle to basically nothing. And of course, thank you for your support and kind words! I hope this chapter is enjoyable enough to make up for the long wait. Let me know what you think of it or any other comments you have for the story and characters!
> 
> Keep on being amazing, guys~!


	15. scrub-a-dub-dub

xv.

The calm. Arthur knew it well by now. The silence that swept through the castle halls after the last feast. The stillness that burrowed into his heart, an acceptance of the journey and trials he would face the next day and beyond. The very fact of it made him uneasy. No good would come from resigning to violence. But he had no other choice now.

He put down the inventory review that he had long since stopped reading and dragged his hands down his face. He trusted Gwen to do all this in his absence. He was just stalling. The end of the work day meant the start of sleep, which meant nightmares and exhaustion and marching out at first light.

He found Guinevere in their bed chambers, combing her hair out of its braid with ill results. He leaned against the doorframe and bit back a smile as he watched her struggle with the frizzy curls. Her reflection in the mirror betrayed her aggravation, face cinched and lips pressed into that disapproving line that sent servants scurrying to rectify their mistakes. But even the Queen of Camelot could not submit her hair to obey.

Her eyes caught his a moment later and her face smoothed. She put down the comb self-consciously and turned to greet him. “I was about to send someone to fetch you. It is late and you have an early morning.” His smile widened. Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“Always so responsible, my love.” He could not stop the corner of his mouth tilting his smile into a smirk. She closed the distance between them only to slap his chest lightly.

“One of us must be!”

He curled his arms around her at the opportunity, jerking her body tight to his own. “I sent someone to fill the bath. It may be my last for a while. Will my queen join me?”

Guinevere leaned her weight into his chest, puckering her lips in fake thought. “I don’t know… what benefit shall I receive from it?”

Arthur smiled at her coyness, kissing those lips. They softened under his own. “Do not tempt me to vulgarity with such useless questions,” he murmured into her mouth. He felt her smile. It fell seconds later and she pulled away from his attention. He chased after her lips for a brief moment before sighing and leaning back to see her.

“I know how tired you are,” she said. “Would you not rather sleep while you have your own bed?”

“I would not,” he laughed. “You must know by now that I would not choose my bed over my wife. Least of all tonight.” He didn’t wait for her response, taking her hand and leading her to the back room where a basin had been set between their bed and the fireplace. He tested the water and finding it agreeably warm, stood to untie Gwen’s shift. He placed a soft kiss on her smooth dark shoulder as the linen slid to the floor.

“Be careful,” he said, gripping her hand as she stepped into the tub. She cast him a warning look. He knew Gwen hated his paranoid caution; she felt it was futile at best and patronizing at worst. But he could not stop himself. If anything happened to her that he could have prevented, he would never recover.

He knelt and Guinevere gripped the front of his shirt. “It’s warm by the fire,” she said, and left it at that. He smiled and obliged, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. He had forgotten about his forest escapades.

“Arthur!” Chilly fingers went to his side and he flinched away from her, gripping them. “This scar…” She knew it hadn’t been there before, and that no scar would have had time to form between now and the last time she’d seen his torso.

He could not make an excuse for it. He decided to feign ignorance. “What about it?” he asked, moving behind her and pressing close so she could not see. The ceramic tub was warmed by the water in it, and Gwen’s bare skin felt chilled in contrast.

“Where did it come from?” She turned her head, still trying to see.

“A battle, most likely,” he commented mildly, lifting a cloth off the side and soaking it in the water to drag up her arm. She gripped his wrist, her wet hand slippery but her grip firm. He could see only the side of her face, but the suspicion in it was clear to him.

He reached his other hand around and pressed it between her legs. Her breath caught and she tensed, her fingers tightening around his arm. “Why is a scar suddenly worrying you?” he asked, keeping his voice sweet and carefree. “You ought to be more worried about yourself in a situation like this. It’s too easy for perverted men to take advantage.”

“Arthur,” she said, helpless in her amusement, but her laughter caught in a shaky gasp as he moved his fingers against her. “The water is clean,” she admonished, but he knew her reluctance was faked.

“The servants can heat up more,” he said into her shoulder, the words vibrating against her skin as she gasped again.

They had forgotten about the bath in the midst of their activities. Contrary to Arthur's assurance, they washed in the cold water then shivered into their bedclothes. It was late now, likely past midnight. Warm and wrapped in the bed sheets, Arthur hugged Gwen tight to his chest. Usually she complained until he let her go, but tonight she only traced her fingers along his shoulders and hummed an old song until he fell asleep.

 

He woke to a pressure on the bed beside him. The room was dark, and Guinevere’s warmth was still wrapped in his arms. He held his breath, calculating how quickly he could detangle himself from her and reach the knife under his pillow.

“Arthur.” The voice gave him both relief and immediate anger. Merlin leaned farther over him and his silhouette blocked what little light came from the window.

“Hold on,” Arthur muttered. Slower than molasses he pulled his arm out from Gwen. She sighed in her sleep and turned to her other side. Arthur let himself exhale. Then he sat up and slammed his elbow hard into Merlin’s chest. The fairy grunted and fell back almost off the bed. “What are you doing here?” he hissed under his breath.

“Giving you this.” He pushed a warm trinket into Arthur’s hand. He held it up to the light, squinting to see it.

“Is this soapstone?” It was carved into a symbol Arthur couldn’t recognize.

“Yes. It’s called an anchor. Keep it on you, and I will be able to fly to your side no matter where you are.”

“What if I’m in the middle of battle, Merlin?” he tossed it back into the fairy’s lap.

“I won’t come unless you call.”

“You can hear through this thing, too?”

“No. Tell the nearest tree you need me and they’ll get the message to me.” He tossed it back to Arthur, who caught it in reflex.

He sighed. “How ridiculous.”

“I appreciate the gratitude, Your _Majesty_.” He could not see, but he knew Merlin’s insufferable grin was across his face. Then the fairy was gone and the room was clear. Arthur rolled his eyes and fell back against the pillow, holding the ‘anchor’ up in the moonlight and turning it over in his hands. After a moment, he tucked it under his pillow and rolled over to hug Guinevere again.

 

He kissed her goodbye one last time in front of his men, not caring a wit if they saw. Guinevere tucked her chin, and Arthur knew her cheeks would be pink if her dark skin allowed. He kissed her nose anyway. “I leave Camelot in your capable hands,” he said.

He left her standing there, his council kneeling with heads bowed behind her, and hoisted himself onto his white mare. “Onward march,” he called across the lines of knights and infantry, and led the way from the city gates.

Guinevere watched until the last man marched out and the portcullis was drawn down.

“Your Majesty,” an adviser pressed gently from her side. She tore her eyes from the portcullis and allowed him to escort her back to the castle.

“Find Merlin,” she told him as soon as they were up the steps. He dipped his head and hurried off.

The greeting hall seemed so big and empty without the throngs of people that had milled around there for days. Only a few servants scurried across it, and those just to get to another door. Guinevere stood, thinking of all the responsibilities that now fell to her and the fact that she was doing none of them. It felt like far too long before a guard came with Merlin trailing behind.

Gwen waved the guard away. Gesturing for Merlin to follow, she led him into the empty council chambers. She closed the door and turned to him with crossed arms. “You aren’t who you say you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8D fashionably late, right? /gets pelted with tomatoes
> 
> Finally got time to write another chapter, and the next one is half-finished so here's to hoping I won't leave you hanging for months~~~ (That's the one that'll have a cat. I did not already forget my promise, Blue.)
> 
> QUESTION FOR Y'ALL.
> 
> So I'm asexual and legit never thought about sex scenes but I realized while writing this that most people are gung-ho for 'em and these scenes might seem cruelly teasing if that's what The People want. So. If you want sex scenes and aren't ashamed to demand some, let me know in the comments. I'll write one up for this chapter and post it separately because I don't want to change the rating for this story and I also want to keep it accessible to everyone. But I'll have a lil' addendum of dicks added to the series' works. Being, y'know, not particularly into sex, I can't promise it will be written well but it'll at least be.... written?
> 
> OkayIloveyouguysthankyousomuchforreading <3


	16. Gwen is sick of being left out

xvi.

Merlin stared down the queen with a straight face.

“What makes you say that?” he asked. In truth, he did not care if Guinevere knew what he really was, though Arthur would be furious. But Arthur wasn’t there any more, so what did it matter?

“Arthur said you were a traveler. But you came with no rucksack, no goods to pawn, nothing a traveler would need to survive. And I don’t see how a traveler’s knowledge could help protect the city if magical armies descended upon it.”

Merlin grinned, thinking of all the times Arthur had tried to brush off his behavior and Guinevere’s silent, watchful eyes were digging into him the whole time. When he said nothing, Gwen continued.

“You’re a magic-user, aren’t you? A warlock.”

Merlin had never heard that word before. He was glad Guinevere more or less defined it for him, but there was a lot left to chance. Was a warlock a human magic-user, or a fairy? Did warlock mean solely those who used blood magic? Merlin did not want to be associated with such depravity. “I know magic, yes,” he said instead, slowly.

Guinevere huffed an angry sound that hissed through her teeth. “Were you ever going to tell me? Was _Arthur_?”

Merlin’s silence answered for him. She threw her hands up and stormed across the room. “Unbelievable! And what—you were going to magically defend Camelot and no one would notice? How does he think one man can save the whole city? And as soon as it is known you use magic the people will rise up and demand you thrown into the dungeon! Or worse, executed! How could he let you stay here in good conscience, with no one on your side?”

“Wait, so…” Gwen halted and glared at Merlin. He raised his palms amicably. “You’re not going to kick me out?”

“No! Why would I?”

“Because… magic is illegal, according to Arthur. And I might be dangerous.” He _was_ dangerous, but he wouldn’t tell Gwen that.

“Arthur doesn’t even trust the falconer lightly. If he trusts you and let you stay in the castle, especially when he’s gone, I have no reason to distrust you. But—how did he find you?”

Merlin laughed. “He didn’t find me. I found him.”

“How did you convince him to trust you, then?”

“I saved his life a couple times.” He said it so casually that Gwen nodded before the meaning sunk in.

“Wait—what? When?”

“When all those knights died. And...” Arthur hadn’t wanted Gwen to know. “In the forest, after that.” It wasn’t a lie.

The queen’s eyes narrowed. He thought for sure she would question him more. Instead she said, “Teach me about magic.”

Merlin blinked. “Really?”

“Yes. If we are truly waging war against another sorcerer, I want to be prepared and know what to expect.” Merlin couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “Meet me in Arthur’s study room after supper.”

“If you insist,” Merlin said with a bow.

 

He hadn’t been in Arthur’s study room since his first lessons with the king. He was surprised to find Gwen already there. She sat with a cat curled in her lap, staring out the window and stroking it absently. The cat lifted its head as Merlin approached. He saw its first instinct in the way it tensed to spring, but as he drew closer and the cat sensed his nature, it relaxed and laid its head back down.

“Waiting for someone?” Merlin asked, and Guinevere startled.

“Oh, Merlin! You are so quiet.” She furrowed her eyebrows at the cat. “Rohesia never tolerates another person’s presence… I cannot believe she is undisturbed.”

“Animals like me.” Merlin shrugged and perched onto the chair opposite Gwen. “Shall we start?” he asked before she got any more inquisitive about the cat’s ease.

Guinevere took in all his information much more easily than Arthur. Her questions were critical, in-depth. When she repeated information back to him, she got it near perfect.

“You are a much better study than Arthur,” Merlin commented after she grasped in an hour what Arthur had taken days to understand.

Guinevere’s laugh was delicate and guilty. “He hates studying. Or anything to do with words on paper. Which is, unfortunately, most of a king’s job. But you’ll never meet a better conciliator or military strategist.”

Merlin couldn’t place the strange weight in his chest to a feeling. He tried to dismiss it but Guinevere noticed the way his eyes darkened.

“Is something wrong?”

He met her gaze. He didn’t know how such oak-brown eyes could be both warm and sharp. He opened his mouth, but paused. If he asked the question on his mind, in light of her recent discovery, she would surely know he was not human. He thought, for Arthur’s sake, he had to try, at least a little, to keep it secret. So instead he asked, “Did you always love him? From the moment you two met?”

“Oh,” Gwen laughed. “No, not at all. I was a lady’s maid here in the castle. I thought he was the most pompous, spoiled jackass to ever live.”

“Glad to hear he gives off that impression to everyone,” Merlin muttered, which made Gwen laugh more. He couldn’t help but smile along. Her laughter was like the soft petals of bluebells, vibrant and beautiful.

“I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. But then… at some point I saw another side to him. He could be sweet and compassionate, and he cared so strongly for his men and kingdom. I think that was my undoing.” She smiled at Merlin, but a moment later it softened with a note of sorrow.

“Oh, I already miss him,” she whispered.

To miss someone. Was that what Merlin felt? He didn’t like thinking about it.

“Let’s continue the lesson,” he said, pushing everything else to the back of his mind. “You understand the elements, so I will explain their limitations.”

They talked long into the night, Merlin’s teachings occasionally interrupted with smatterings of conversation. Talking with Guinevere was much easier than talking to Arthur. She listened, for one thing, and her answers were always fair and laidback. She did not speak to him like she was above him, but as equals.

They would have continued into the hours of the morning if someone did not knock on the door.

“Your Majesty?” a tentative voice called.

“Oh, my lady’s maid is waiting to prepare me for bed,” Gwen sighed. She stood and smiled. “Thank you. I hope we can continue these lessons. I’d like to learn as much as possible. And I hope… well, I hope we can be friends, Merlin.”

He crossed his legs up onto the seat and gripped his ankles. “I would like that,” he said.

 

+++

Arthur had told King Nicholas, the lords, and all his men to be on the lookout for an unusual black tree or anything they thought out of the ordinary. He was determined to be prepared for Gareth’s magic tricks and seedy tactics. But they arrived at their first encampment late in the evening with no intrusions. Arthur put the sentry on double-shift and walked the perimeter with his guards. Satisfied, at least for the moment, he retired to his tent to look over the maps. Nicholas was camped a day’s hike ahead, and in two days they were to meet. All of Leon’s scouts confirmed Gareth’s forces were headed towards them four days away.

Arthur couldn’t rid the bubbling anxiety in his chest. He paced his tent, going over the times, the terrain, the strategies Gareth might employ and the strategies he could use to counter them. The camp cook left fresh loaf bread and beef stew—the last of such luxuries he would have for a while. Which turned Arthur’s thoughts to inventory. He barely had two spoons before he was staring into the distance and going over the logistics of how much flour they brought, how many vegetables, how many men would need to hunt small game to sustain the legion. Usually an innocuous chore, with a dishonorable enemy like Gareth forays into the woods could be a death sentence.

Finally Arthur stood and gave his food to the two guards outside his tent. “Rest and eat,” he told them. Had they been his own knights they would have protested as he went off by himself into the trees, unconcerned about deference over duty just as Arthur had taught them. But all of his knights, save Leon, were dead. These men just took the bowl in wordless confusion and watched him leave.

He did not go far. When the camp fires were hidden by brush and the clamor of soldiers muffled to an echo, he stopped in the shadow of a large alder and waited. Insects buzzed around him and the heat of summer penetrated the night. An owl cooed in the distance. When two minutes had passed and there were no sounds of human movement, Arthur turned his attention to the tree.

“Tell Merlin…” he began to whisper to its bark, but stopped. He felt like a madman. He cleared his throat and looked around, though he knew no one was there to witness this bizarre scene. “Tell him to meet me half an hour past mid-night,” he said at a normal volume. He paused, wondering how long it would take a message to reach Merlin all the way in Camelot. There weren’t any trees in the castle, but Merlin knew that. He must have planned for that obstacle.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, questioning whether this would work at all. “Any night within the next three days, if he will not get the message tonight,” Arthur amended. “I will wait up for him.”

The leaves in the canopy rustled together, though Arthur felt no wind. He dismissed the thought from his mind before he lost all faith in his sanity and headed back to the camp.

The guards scrambled to their feet as he approached, looking guilty over the empty bowl as though they had stolen it.

“Make sure no one disturbs me past mid-night without announcing their presence,” Arthur commanded. “I do not care who they are.” He ducked into his tent and shut the entrance tight.

Merlin did not show up that night. Arthur finally went to bed when exhaustion weighed heavy on his eyes with each agonizing blink. He woke the next morning to Leon quarrelling with the guards outside.

He struggled out of his cot and tried to rub the bleariness from his face. He knew he still looked bedraggled when he called for Leon to enter.

“Your guards wouldn’t let me in,” he huffed as he shoved into the tent.

“Yes, apologies,” Arthur said, waving his hand to dismiss the grievance. He didn’t want to explain. “Everything is in order, I hope?”

“Yes, the men are dismantling camp. We will be ready to march in an hour. The scouts reported back, Gareth’s army is still headed southwest towards Luitcott. We should meet them in three days’ time.” Arthur lifted his head from his hand and the look in his eye gave Leon pause. “What’s wrong?”

“Have the fastest scouts ride to the direct east and west of King Nicholas’s camp.”

“Sire?” Leon inquired.

“Do it!” Arthur hissed. He was too tired for patience and pleasantries. Leon dipped his head and left. Arthur stood and called for a squire to help him into his armor. He should have known from last night, from the troubles plaguing his mind. He had never ignored his gut instinct before and he wasn’t about to start now. They were marching straight into a trap.


	17. Merlin is Not Having a good time

xvii.

The sun was mid-sky when Merlin returned from the forest with Arthur’s request. Midnight seemed too far away. A supply crisis in the city meant Guinevere was too busy to humor his boredom. People from outlying villages were flooding into the protection of the city walls and putting a strain on space and food stores. Since the city was where all the interest was, Merlin decided to explore it again.

The streets were indeed busier. More bustling, less space, people sleeping on sacks by the side of the cobblestone until vendors kicked them awake and shooed them off. The hectic disorientation was not the interest Merlin was hoping for.

He retreated back to the quieter district close to the castle. It held plenty of distractions of its own. He watched men paint colors to life or carve stone into art. He saw some bending gold around gems,  much like the shiny trinkets Guinevere wore about her neck. Women walked the streets together, talking and laughing. Others sat in doorways and wove thread into beautiful patterns.

Music drew him to a large building along the center plaza. He did not particularly care for the noisy music humans enjoyed; he liked the soft music of wind through leaves or birds calling to each other from afar. But it was hard to ignore the jovial sounds coming from the building. No guards stood outside so he opened one door a notch and peered inside.

Despite the sun overhead, the room was filled with candles and torches. By a side wall, a group played all manner of instruments, none of which Merlin could name. Men and women darted around together, taking up the rest of the room. At first Merlin thought they were running in a jumble, but as he watched a pattern emerged. They swirled and twisted and clapped and stomped all in time with each other and the music. They broke apart only to join together again, sometimes in a circle all together, other times in pairs, and they all laughed and shouted with great joy.

He could have stood and watched them for hours. The door shoving into him pulled him from his rapture and he stumbled back. The curious grumbles on the opposite side did not get an answer to their question. Before they could see what they had hit, Merlin flew to the castle.

He startled Gwen when he popped into the study.

“Where did you come from?” Guinevere gasped, hand still at her chest. “Were you invisible?”

Merlin scratched his head and looked out the window. “No I, er…” He did not know how to explain. He was certain even human magic did not let humans fly. “I came through the wall,” he said instead. “Physical barriers aren’t an obstacle for me.”

“That’s… helpful.” By the look on Gwen’s face she didn’t know what to make of it.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked.

She gestured to the papers on the desk. “Writing orders to be taken to the granary and water distributors. We must ration our supply so we do not run out within the week. Is there something you need help with? I need to finish this quickly.”

“No, sorry. I did not know you’d be in here.” He started to leave, but paused and turned back. “Before I go, can you tell me what this is?” He followed the steps as he remembered them, around in a small circle in the center of the room. Guinevere watched with furrowed brow. “Except with music and more people,” Merlin explained when he finished.

“Do you mean… dancing?” Gwen asked, unable to stop her laugh. “You don’t know what _dancing_ is?”

“Is it common?”

“Yes…” Guinevere stood, eyes narrow and her humor gone. “Where are you from, Merlin?”

“What?” Merlin asked, smiling innocently. “What do you mean?”

“What kingdom… what town?”

“I… never lived in a town.” He shrugged. “Just… in the woods. I have no need to depend on society.”

“I suppose that explains it,” Guinevere sighed. “What a sad childhood you must have had. Even serfs celebrate and dance.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and staring to the side. He didn’t dare say anything more, least of all the fact that he had had no childhood.

“Well, I suppose it is my turn to teach you after all you have done for me. I will show you how to dance after supper, in the great hall. I should have time.”

The cook had improved in making Merlin’s supper—which was just to say he no longer lived off fruit alone. Boiled or roasted vegetables were added to his meal, and a goblet of mead. He lounged on the stone windowsill, one leg dangling down as he munched on roasted parsnip and looked out over the gardens. He did not have one of those candles he saw in the castle, with drawn lines to indicate passing hours. But he had grown skilled at judging the hour, as time seemed greatly important to humans. Still, he had to be careful not to get carried away with Guinevere and miss his meeting with Arthur.

When he was finished eating he had to assume Gwen was done as well and found his way to the great hall. It was where festivities had been held just several days ago, when the castle brimmed with knights and nobles. Now its emptiness echoed in Merlin’s ears as he stood inside. He poked around, but any remnants of the party had been cleaned and it was just a gaping empty room.

Gwen’s arrival livened his spirits, especially as she wore a dress more beautiful than he had ever seen. Its deep yellow contrasted with her dark skin, bringing out the smattering of freckles across her nose. White and pink flowers embroidered the purple belt around her waist and her pinned back hair still struggled against its restraints, stubborn curls bouncing against her neck and forehead as she walked. Merlin forgot to breathe until she spoke.

“Okay,” Guinevere announced, holding up her hand. “I did not want to call for a minstrel, so we will have to make our own music, but I will teach you the steps first.” Merlin nodded, staring at her raised hand. Gwen laughed and reached down to grab his own, pulling it up with hers. “Like this. Now lift your feet high.”

Merlin followed as she stepped back and pulled him forward. Forward, forward, back. Left, left, back. Merlin let her pull and push him along as he mirrored her movements. When he knew the first part well enough to do it without any prompting, she moved to the next.

Around and around they went, stepping and hopping and twirling. Merlin would have never guessed a human custom could be so fun.

“You’re a better dancer than Arthur,” Guinevere said, breathless as they went through the movements he had just learned.

Merlin grinned. “Really?”

“Well,” Guinevere laughed. “He isn’t clumsy like some, but he dances so rigidly.”

“And how do I dance?” Merlin leaned closer, wiggling his eyebrows until Gwen pushed him away laughing. The two stopped, standing together in the large hall.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” she teased, then smiled down at the floor. “You dance fluidly. I imagine it would be beautiful to watch you from afar.”

“Of the two of us, I am not the one bringing beauty to this occasion,” Merlin said. Guinevere blinked up at him in surprise, then huffed a laugh and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. It popped back into place as soon as she let it go. “Thank you.”

Merlin grinned, tucking the strand back more firmly for her. “Do not thank me for speaking the truth,” he said. “Shall we dance with music?”

She stepped away from him, not meeting his gaze. “No, I think this is good for tonight,” she said steadily. The control of it betrayed the agitation she was hiding.

Merlin tilted his head. “What’s wrong?” He reached for her elbow but she pushed him away.

“I love my husband,” she said, the resolute note to her voice sounding defiant, though Merlin did not know what she was defying.

“I know,” he said, astonished that she thought he didn’t. She turned a look to him that was both severe and confused.

“Good night, Merlin.” She walked around him to go out the door. He watched her leave, dumbfounded. Then he stood in the hall until a servant came to extinguish the torches that lit it.

 

Arthur walked through the encampment, surveying his men as they set up. It was a pointless job, as the captains kept their men orderly. Arthur mostly acted as intimidation to remain in line or inspiration to keep their spirits up.

He saw Leon sprinting towards him before he heard the man calling. He strode over to meet him in the middle.

 “Sire,” he huffed once he reached Arthur, giving a quick bow. “I bring news.”

Arthur needed no further information to know this was not for prying ears. He pulled Leon away from the soldiers and brought him to his own tent.

Leon did not wait for the king to address him before he started. “One of my scouts returned. He saw two hundred soldiers marching south, five leagues to the west.” Arthur grit his teeth. He had hoped he was wrong, but he was not surprised. Gareth was sending infantry to catch them from behind on the battlefield. “Except—” Leon’s voice caught and he stared uneasily at the tent wall.

Leon hesitated to continue, and Arthur had to withhold a sigh. His constable was the best in the kingdom, but his tendency for reluctance was a fault that tested Arthur’s patience. “What is it?” he coaxed.

Leon met his eye, almost pained in doing so. “He said they were not men… they were… dead men. Walking.”

Arthur’s eyes widened even as his brow fell. Gareth using the dead against them was not a surprise either, but two hundred? He only had fifty-nine of Arthur’s men, and he hadn’t heard anything from other kingdoms of lost soldiers.

“And the other scout?” he asked.

“He has not returned,” Leon replied solemnly. Arthur could hear that Leon did not expect him to.

So the east was inconclusive, but Arthur had to assume it was another two hundred dead soldiers marching to capture them in the rear. A scout of Leon’s would not succumb to anything less than enemy assault. Four hundred behind and eight hundred ahead. Against his and King Nicholas’s collective nine hundred, none of which were backed by magic or fortunate enough to be unbothered by a sword through the stomach. He could not let Leon see his shaken confidence.

“We must change strategies.” Arthur unrolled the map over his makeshift table. “We cannot wait to catch up with Nicholas so it will have to be without his counsel. In any case, it may be better he continue as normal. There is still a chance Gareth does not know we know.”

After formulating a strategy, Leon left to continue overseeing the men. Arthur stood over the map without seeing it. Even with their newly-formed plan, Arthur could not imagine the battle resulting in anything less than massive casualties. But at the very least they could make a dent in Gareth’s men, too.

He had forgotten entirely about his message to Merlin. When a dark head of hair peered over his shoulder he whipped around, dagger brandished on instinct. Merlin stepped back, looking amused and not at all concerned to have almost lost a nose to Arthur’s blade.

“Oh, you.”

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” Merlin quipped.

Arthur sighed, but a moment later his expression brightened. “Actually, I have a use for you.”

“Did you not have one when you asked for me?” Merlin’s smirk brought Arthur’s scowl back. Worse than Merlin’s taunt was the fact that it was true. He had not.

“Gareth has an army of dead soldiers, like Gw… like Gwaine was.” He cleared his throat. “There must be some way to oppose the magic and return them to the state God intended.”

“Your god has nothing to do with that state or any other.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Neither do I, for that matter. Even were I willing to do blood magic to undo the spell on them, I could not do it for sixty men.”

“Four hundred,” Arthur muttered.

“What?” Merlin stared wide-eyed at Arthur. “Surely not.”

“Well, two hundred confirmed, but I expect another two hundred more.”

“No… that is impossible. I thought you only lost sixty men to him.”

“I did. He must have—”

“Arthur, you cannot fight.”

Arthur stopped, his lip curling from the utter indignation of such a sentence. “I can fight, Merlin, and I will.”

“Then you will _die_!”

Arthur could not withstand Merlin’s deep blue eyes digging into him. He looked away. “That may be. But I will die fighting for my kingdom and my men.”

“Arthur—no. You can’t… you are mad if you try to fight. Even with all your men against four hundred living corpses, they will all die. Turn everyone back. Return to Camelot.”

“And leave Nicholas to be overtaken? Allow Gareth to move unencumbered into my kingdom and others and wreak destruction upon them? No, Merlin, _you_ are mad if you think I will cowardly turn away from my duty as king to protect my land and people.”

“But when you all die your land will be unprotected anyway!”

“Yes but Gareth will have less soldiers.”

“He will just re-animate them!”

“I’ve already had Leon tell the men to behead all enemies.”

Merlin shook his head. “Fine, but I will not stand by and let you ride into your death.”

“You have no choice.”

“Oh yes I do.” Merlin stepped forward, reaching out. Arthur had flown with him enough to recognize the motion. With a quick arc of his dagger he cut a line over Merlin’s hand. The fairy hissed, pulling it back. “You cut me!”

“I will do worse to you if you try to kidnap me,” Arthur growled, his glare sharper than his knife. “Do not believe I hold your life above my men’s. I will not abandon them, even if leading them means certain death.”

“You would kill me?” Merlin said through grit teeth, holding his hand. “You would kill me so that I could not stop you from dying?”

“Yes.”

Arthur’s unflinching response drew Merlin back. He looked the king over in his shiny armor and fierce expression. His eyebrows fell again.

“Go and die, then, if that is your wish. I won’t mourn your futile sacrifice, but I loathe to watch the anguish you leave on your wife.” He vanished.

Arthur looked around the tent, then lowered his dagger and stood in the silence. It was low of Merlin to bring up Guinevere, but he was a fool to think it would stop Arthur. As though he had not already considered it a hundred times over.

He walked deep into the forest and chucked the anchor as hard as he could into the bush before returning to camp to brief the lords on their change of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Just a reminder that I have an author's blog (https://kc-llewen.tumblr.com/) where you can see the more serious projects I am undertaking. But nowwww I also have a blog specifically for this story! Mainly because I was really bored one day, huzzah! Right now it's mostly other people's Merlin fanart because everyone is just so DANG talented. But I plan to post chapter previews on the blog before they are finished and posted here (because I take so long now to write them, I'm sorry) and maybe some hijinks or other fun stuff that you don't see in the curated chapters I post to AO3. Here it is: https://kingandfairy.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you follow one of my blogs but not the other please don't think I will be offended. If you enjoy my fanfic but don't care about original work, don't feel guilty, I understand how these things go. Just enjoy whatever choices you make!


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